


Gala Macchiato

by Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace



Series: Coffee Beans and Vinyl Records [6]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Customer!Pete, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kinda, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, barista!Patrick, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:37:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace/pseuds/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something about the annual gala that just pisses him off- that makes the CEO want to unleash words laced with venom towards belittling glares and snide comments, to take the car back to the hotel, drown an extra dose of his medication and forget the world existed for a evening, asking himself, like he did year after year, 'Why did I even fucking come to this shithole?' </p><p>Pete's not sure if he wants to expose Patrick to that part of his world...</p><p>(Or, Pete asks his barista boyfriend to be his +1 to the annual Record Gala, and things may or may not go smoothly...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation Only

_‘Fuck._

_Fuckity-fuck.’_

Pete runs his hands over his face, the heels of his palms pressing firmly into his eyes to the point that spots of colors bloomed behind his eyelids. Shit, how could have forgotten? Leaning back in the chair behind his desk he groans loudly before looked down at the heavy white envelope lying innocently against the dark wood of his desk, the contents of the envelope, a crisp, white with gold accent cardstock invitation, resting on top of it, the lettering on the invitation embossed and elegant that screamed ‘rich’, ‘fancy’, and ‘high class’ (Pete scoffs at the thought, because he’s _far_ from the typical visual meanings of those words).

He lets out another noise as he buries his head into his arms, acting more like a toddler than the CEO of a record label. But Pete couldn’t really help it…he just _hated_ the Gala.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before Joe strides into his office without so much of even a knock, eyes looking a little blazed even as he whistles a jaunty tune, a stack of papers under his arms. Pete doesn’t even look up, this voice muffled by his arms.

“You know, knocking is seen as a common courtesy…Might also save your ‘innocent eyes’ from watching Patrick and I make out…” But Joe is pretty much in an I-don’t-give-a-fuck-right-now mood so he simply shrugs, retorting “Usually, but Patrick’s not here and you don’t have your tongue shoved down his throat, so I’d say my virtue is pretty much intact today.” Pete scoffs before picking up his head as Joe places the stack of papers in front of him. “Anyways, here’s the new venue contracts we’re looking into for some upcoming shows you were asking for, and this,” Joe magically whips out a tablet from under his arm, an intricate brightly colored graph of data on the screen, “Are the new merch-sales from the Clandestine floor, we’re looking pretty good.”

Pete takes the tablet, looking over the in data on the screen. “Keep it up, I’ll make sure I go down there personally and thank John and the rest of them for the hard work. Looks like we’ll double sales in the next six months.”

“Yup, maybe even triple. We might need to start looking into hiring more hands to help out in the future, but John and the crew are sailing like no one’s business.”

“They have it covered,” Pete agrees, but makes a mental note in his already jammed mental planner to keep an eye on it. As he hands the tablet back over to Joe, the younger man’s curiosity getting the best of him at the sight the invitation the desk.

“Is that for the Snob Ball?” Joe points out, falling into one of the chair in front of Pete’s desk, limbs thrown haphazardly, tablet in his lap. Pete groans again, inspecting the invitation once more, jeez. Why did Joe have to remind him…

“Yeah, I need to RSVP, I have to show face,” he grumbles, “Not that I want to.” He leans back heavily into the soft leather of his chair. He raises a dark brow, an idea spinning in his head. “You and Andy want to represent for me?”

Joe lets out a loud laugh. “Ha! Hell no, man. Been there, done that.”

“I’ll make it worth you’re wild…” Pete teases with a hint of begging.

“Nope! Not even if you give a raise and a year supply of weed. That’s your thing dude,” Joe says easily. “When do you need to RSVP by?”

Pete sighs, defeated, “Friday…I can’t go by myself, man, I’ll be fucking miserable, and all it is a bunch of cocky assholes who try to out buy each other!”

“You’ve got two days…and yeah, I get ya, when me and Andy went for you, we were bored out of our minds…” Pete whines like a child once more, head falling onto his desk. Joe, forever a lovable piece of shit, even when blazed, Pete always knew he was, simply snickered before a thought hit him.

“Hey, why don’t you take Patrick?”

Pete’s head shot up from its pace on the table at the suggestion. Why the fuck hadn’t he thought of that? But then again, he didn’t want to expose Patrick to all the snobby people who looked down on Pete like he was dirt because he wasn’t considered a “real” label…Pete always hated when others underestimated his hard work, and the hard work done by everyone who was involved in keeping DCD2 together.

“I don’t know, Joe. You know what it’s like….I kind of don’t want to put him through that…”

“But you have to admit that it’s been getting better over the years.” Pete did have to admit that it was true, it had gotten better, or rather, more bearable over the years, and most of the time, he had only gone by himself, maybe once or twice with Joe and Andy.

And for a moment, Pete cursed Joe’s high-as-a-fucking-kite-wisdom, and entertained the idea, possibly thinking about bringing it up at dinner. “Yeah," he sighed tiredly, "Maybe I’ll run it by him tonight…” Pete thinks out loud, not sounding all too thrilled.

“You never know, bro...anyways,” Joe stands, stretching. “I’mma go see if Jenna has any munchies or if I can steal some of Andy’s trail mix…if you need me, I’ll be…somewhere,” he gestures lazily with one hand, tablet in the other.

Pete tries not to laugh, but his grin doesn’t fade from his face. “Okay JoeTroh, and try not to hit the pipe too hard.”

“Nah, just had a rough night, jittery as hell. Andy already gave me a lecture. See ya!” and with another wave, the his curly haired friend closes the office door with a soft click, leaving Pete alone in his spacious office, alone to his thoughts, his work, and his dilemma…

_**......** _

“Hi! Welcome to Coffee for Closers!” Hayley greets as she places fresh pastries in the show-case, when the bell on top of the front door rings, signaling customers. Patrick calls out a name for the drink he just made, before making his way over to the register, adjusting the fedora on his head. “Hey, there, what can I make for you?” He asks easily with a smile.

It’s been a steady flow today, nothing too hectic, but enough to keep the busy; it’s December, after all, and nothing is better than hot chocolate or a hot peppermint mocha to warm up. The board is still up, since it’s Patrick’s shift, Hayley’s stick-figure rendition of him gracing the backboard, and his recommendation of White Hot Chocolate has been really popular today, much to his surprise.

“Okay, so I have a large White Hot Chocolate with a pump of caramel and whipped cream, and two cake pops…that’ll be $4.75…”

As the customer hands over her credit card, a curious expression comes to her face. “Hey…you’re the one that was taking the phone numbers months ago right? Because the board?”

Patrick’s cheeks flush as he swipes the card, “Yeah…,” he chuckles, “That was me…” He prints out a receipt and hands her card and the paper to her. The customer smiles as she takes the card from the barista.

“Well, I’m glad it ended up working out,” she winked as she mentioned to the board, which sat innocently besides the cashier. Beside Hayley’s stick figure, Patrick had written his name on the space that read, _“Today Your Barista(s):”_ and the two facts he had scribbled on the board made him, and several other long time customers, smile.

  1. _Found his boyfriend because of this stupid board  
_



2\. And _his co-workers won’t let him forget it….EVER (it was their fault, anyways)_

Then under the “For Your Drink Today, I Recommend:”

_White Hot Chocolate =) because sometimes *regular* hot chocolate can be overrated jk_

Patrick nodded his thanks with a grin and started working heating up milk for the drinks, thinking about the last four month’s that he’s been with Pete, days spent in his office watching him work from the corner of his eye as he sat on the loveseat procrastinating on his own college papers, to nights out and evenings in with pizza, beer (or wine if Pete was feeling extra ‘romantic’), and listening to records or watching TV. It was simple, and sweet, and frankly, it was _them._ Patrick reassured the CEO that for all the barista’s sass and attitude, he was far from high-maintenance, contrary to popular (Brendon's) belief.

 _“I just want to make you happy-”_ Pete had told him one night when he had hinted, just the slightest, that he wouldn't mind helping Patrick pay off his student loans.

 _“ **You** make me happy, you idiot…Money isn’t everything to me, you know that,"_ he had shot back, not intentionally coming off as offended. Patrick wasn't a damsel in distress, and the last thing he wanted to be was a pity case, or a Sugar Baby that Pete could throw his money at. (As it turns out, Pete come's from a wealthy background, his dad being a lawyer and his mom being a reknown Dean at UC, but prefers to earn his own income).

_“I know, I know! I just…I’m going to sound stupid, but I want to take care of you, so, like, you don’t have to worry about anything.”_

_“Pete…”_

_“I know we’ve been dating for less than half a year, but, like…uhh…I just-fuck I don’t even know where I’m going with this…”_ Pete had sounded frustrated, pulling slightly at his short hair before the strawberry blonde came and rested a hand over his, the other resting on Pete’s shoulder.

 _“I love you.”_ And that was the first time he had ever uttered those words to Pete, because Patrick didn’t throw the word ‘love’ around carelessly, but with Pete…it felt _right. “I love you, Pete, but I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself…I appreciate it though, I really do.”_ He added as sincerely as he could have. Patrick remembers watching the way Pete’s eyes widen, and then his face soften as the barista’s hand found its way to his cheek, as he kissed his lips sweetly.

_“I love you, too, Patrick.”_

Patrick finished the order, bags two cake pops and hands them to the customer, waving goodbye as Hayley tapped his shoulder. “Break time! And quit daydreaming about your hunk of a boyfriend, you’re gonna burn yourself on the steamer” she grins playfully, sticking her tongue out.

“Oh shut up.” There’s no malice in his voice, but just a smile and a roll of the eyes. Hayley giggles, her fire red bun moving with her as she skips a little to the register, and takes over as he heads to the back. He leaves his apron on as he drops onto the lumpy sofa as he pulls out his phone, hoping, that with a 15 minute break and a miracle, he can _finally_ pass this stupidly stubborn level in Candy Crush.

Before he could tap on the app, his phone buzzes and a message from Pete pops onto his screen.

_From Pete:  
hey u, still on 4 dinner?_

_To Pete:  
yeah, my shift ends at 6, where?_

_From Pete :  
casa de pete…or apt…lol im cooking 2nite_

_To Pete:  
Oh god, please don’t burn down the apt, I just helped u move into it a month ago…_

_From Pete:  
BABE!!! Im offended!!! (tongue emoji)_

_To Pete:  
lol just saying! Jk _

_From Pete:  
yeeeaaaah….suuure…lol i’ll c u l8r. love you_

_To Pete:  
Love you, too jerk._

_From Pete:  
but im ur jerk  <3 (wink emoji)_

The blue-hazel eyed barista rolled his eyes and continued to his Candy Crush, smiling as he did, because, well, Pete wasn’t wrong after all; Pete was _his_ jerk, and Patrick couldn’t be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you all think. I was a little hesitant about posting this one up, since I've been having a little writer's block with this one because I wasn't 100% sure if I liked the way it was going, but for the most part, it's going to be looking into 'Pete's world as a CEO in a cut throat business' rather than the easy-going nature of Patrick's. Comments, feedback, and kudos are always welcome. Prompts are always welcomed as well (those help get the creative juices flowing when I'm stuck) and can be left on here or on my tumblr (shatteredmirrors-and-lace23).
> 
> As always, a million thank yous for begin patience and sticking with the series (and my other fics as well), you have no idea how much it means to me.  
> -Xoxo


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wouldn't be possible without the cheerleading of my amazing Beta [Flame_and_Jade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade). 
> 
> So enjoy the fluff!

As it turns out, the afternoon flew by faster that Patrick expected.

The walk to Pete’s new apartment was closer than his previous one, just under 20 minutes at a comfortable pace from the coffeeshop. When he arrived at his destination—a high rise apartment complex—he’s greeted by a kind-looking older doorman. “Good Evening, Mr. Stump!”

Patrick stops mid-step, puzzled at the sound of his name. “Good Evening….?”

The doorman simply chuckles. “Roger, sir. Roger Stovall, at your service. You’re Mr. Wentz’ boyfriend, yes?”

Patrick nods slowly, still shocked at the fact that the doorman _already_ knew his name, hell, Pete’s only lived in the building for about _a month_ now…

“No need to be alarmed, you tend to match faces to names over time. Mr. Wentz orders delivery often and he’s a kind fellow. Besides we chat from time to time, and I’ve seen you come with him a few times, so when he was telling me about his boyfriend, I put two and two together. He told me you were coming over when he came in earlier.”

Patrick rolled his eyes feigning annoyance. “Yeah, that sounds like Pete…hopefully he didn’t tell you anything too embarrassing.”

The doorman smiles, shaking his head. “Only that you’re the best thing to ever happen to him, and you you’re always with a fedora.”

Patrick feels a blush begin to form on his cheeks at the thought of Pete gushing about him to the doorman. “He’s a dork,” he mumbles, attempting to look annoyed, but failing.

Roger simply chuckles good-heartedly, opening the glass door to the complex for Patrick. “I hope you have a good evening Mr. Stump.”

Patrick returns the smile. “Thank you Roger, hope you have a good one, too.”

He entered the elevator and punched the button that will take him to the 7th floor, Pete’s floor. As he goes up, he unconsciously straightens himself up, readjusting the placement of his fedora before shouldering his backpack securely, finishing just in time for the doors to open. It’s more like a nervous habit, something he does just before he sees Pete, even though the older man has stressed time and time again that looks don’t matter. _‘I love you in every way you come, Patrick, you're cute in a button up and sweater paws, just like you are in an espresso-stained shirt from your shift.’_ But Patrick still couldn’t help it, just like he couldn’t help the butterflies in his stomach as he approached Pete’s door, fiddling around on his keychain for the spare to the apartment at Pete had entrusted to him once the move was complete.

Finding it with a smile, he unlocks the door and is greeted the sound of the Top 40 radio station flittering through the open space, and the savory smell of chicken being cooked in the kitchen.

Smiling, Patrick places his backpack at the door before making his way into the open layout of the apartment, warm and modern, but entirely Pete, from the abstract artwork that hangs on the walls, to the collection of DVDs, CDs, records, and books that artfully line the shelf by the window, and the piles of notebooks, contracts, and paperwork that sit on the coffee table in front of the sofa. It feels a lot like Pete’s office, in a way – It’s warm and feels almost like _home_ , which is still surprising to Patrick considering Pete only moved into the space a month ago.

He finds himself drawn to the kitchen, where Pete’s cooking away on the stove stirring what looked like chicken, broccoli, and pasta covered in a white sauce in the skillet as he sings softly along to the catchy tune filtering through the small wireless speaker, nodding his head to the beat. Patrick simply watches from the doorway, shaking his head with a grin as he watches Pete turn his attention from the stove to the laptop beside him on the counter, opened to an email. He types something lightning fast—a brief reply—then sends it off and turns back to the skillet. Patrick rolls his eyes at the scene, ‘ _ever the multi-tasker_ ’ he thinks playfully.

Pete finally catches sight of him from the corner of his eye. “Hey, perfect timing! Chicken Alferdo’s almost done,” Pete grins, turning over to the barista in the doorway.

“It smells freakin’ fantastic, man,” Patrick says, walking into the kitchen behind Pete, wrapping his arms around his middle and kissing his shoulder through Pete’s well-loved t-shirt. “I’m surprised you didn’t burn down the apartment,” he laughs gently.

Pete turns and pecks Patrick’s lips, letting his hands settle on the younger man’s hips. “You’re just jealous of my cooking skills,” he teases.

“Maybe a little,” the barista smiles. “I’ll help set the table.” Patrick moves around the kitchen easily, reaching for two plates, cups, and silverware, knowing exactly where they were since he had helped Pete unpack. “So, how was work?”

The conversation flows comfortably between them, Pete talking animatedly about some new shirt designs the Clandestine floor came up with and how he'd been thinking about putting them into the winter line, promising to show Patrick later. Soon enough, their food is plated and taken to the small table, and Pete asks Patrick about work and school as they sat. It feels domestic for only being together for as long as they have, but it just feels _right_ , their conversation continuing easily over dinner, the radio playing in the background.

Towards the end of the meal, the invitation to the Gala came to the forefront of Pete's mind, and so did the nerves.

"So, I kinda have a question to ask you," he started, looking hesitantly at Patrick, who was currently munching on a forkful of broccoli and pasta. The barista looked up at him across the small table and nodded, as if wordlessly telling him to continue. Pete took a deep breath. "Yeah, um…so, like every year there's this annual gala, basically everyone who’s in the music industry is invited to go and just hang out. It looks good on the company if I show face and...um...I kinda don't have a date...?"

"Are… you asking me to be your plus one?"

Something akin to dread sets in Pete’s gut, a little voice in his mind already castigating him, calling him stupid and immature. ‘ _You already fucked this up, good job, Pete._ ’ To stop the onslaught of thoughts, which he noted had been rearing their ugly heads more than usual, Pete nervously ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends slightly before starting to fiddle with his fork.

"Yes?....Maybe? Uh..,” Pete sighs, eyes averted. “Look, if you don’t want to, I completely understand—”

Suddenly there’s a hand on his, this nervous fidgeting coming to a stop when he feels fingers curl between his own, warm and reassuring. Pete looks up and warm whiskey eyes meet blue-green with that familiar ring of hazel, and shit, Pete forgets how easy it is to get lost in Patrick’s eyes… and besides, Patrick’s smiling, and he swears he melts.

“Of course Pete, I would be honored,” Patrick smiles, and the doubt in Pete’s gut ebbs away, leaving him a warmth settling throughout his entire body. It’s insane what the barista could do to him with just a fucking look.

 “Really?”

“Yeah, just let me know when it is so I can work the schedule at the coffee-shop and talk to my professors.” Patrick pauses for a moment, looking somewhat doubtful. “Are you sure you want _me_ to go with you, though?”

 _‘I want you with me always’_ Pete almost breathes out, but instead nods. “More than anything. I hate going to these stupid things alone. Hell, I tried to bribe Joe with a raise and weed, but he didn’t bite.”

Patrick chuckles at that. “You should’ve thrown in a years’ worth of Chipotle, you know he loves their burritos.”

“Damn…you’re right. I’ll make sure to use that against him, next time I need him to do something.” It’s Pete’s turn to laugh, feeling lighter than he did before.

“I take it I’m going to have to dress up for it?” asks Patrick casually, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork.

“Actually…don’t worry about it.” Patrick looks up at that, confused. Before he could say anything, Pete interjects. “The label will take care of it.”

“No, Pete.”

“We have a special fund set aside for events like this, so the suit is on us,” he says in between bites. “I’ll be getting a new one, too. Tiffany is actually going to be setting up appointments with the tailor for us when I RSVP.”

“Okay, one – don’t talk with your mouth full,” Pete childishly sticks his tongue out at that, but let’s Patrick continue. “Two—Are you _sure_? That sounds like a lot of money to spend…”

“I’m more than sure,” he says, smiling gently at Patrick. “Look, the label’s going to take care of everything, we’re prepared for events like this, and before you even say it, _you are worth it._ And if you ever want to back out at any time, you’re more than welcomed, too.

Patrick pushes around a piece of broccoli around his plate, looking thoughtful. “You really want me there?” Patrick asks softly, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Pete nods, reaching across the table the interlace their fingers, his tan thumb rubbing soothing circles along the side Patrick’s pale hand, warm under his touch. “Only if you want.”

Blue green-hazel eyes look down at their hands and squeeze back.

“Wait,” Patrick paused, his eyes lighting up. “An appointment with a _tailor_?”

And Pete didn’t know if he should have been relieved or nervous about the flash of excitement that crossed the younger man’s face when the words left kissable lips.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly, Pete showing Patrick the new designs from the winter line (Patrick picking a few of his favorites and commenting on ones he wasn't _too_ fond of)  and Patrick playing a little mix he and Travie came up with during class. After some heated kisses and tentative touches, the both of them settle on Pete’s sofa watching _Pulp Fiction_ , Pete’s head pillowed in Patrick’s lap as the barista’s fingers rub soothing circles on his scalp. And as he begins to drift in and out of consciousness, Pete’s mind isn’t on the movie. Instead, it’s on the conversation they had earlier about the gala…and a sneaking suspicion that told him that this year’s gala was going be much different than years before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a hard chapter to write for some reason, but after an brainstorming session with Jade_and_Flames, I have a feeling this one is going to be much easier to crank out. I promise Fluff (and smut?) will ensue. 
> 
> Comments, feedback, and kudos are always welcomed. And as always, a million 'thank you's for your patience with sticking with this series, and there will be more to come <3.
> 
> Thanks you for reading!
> 
> -Xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is completed and utterly un-beta'd! i wanted to get this posted ASAP, that being said, all mistakes are mine and I apologize in advance.
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, dears!!

Pete, in all honesty, wasn’t too fond of fittings.

He didn’t know of if it was the fact that he had to stand still while he was poked and prodded, pieces of fabric and cut out patterns held against him as the tailor tool measurements and marked said fabric with tailor’s chalk. It was nerve-wracking, for some odd, unexplainable reason. Maybe it was all the pins and fabrics, the various patterns and variety of colors that he would have to pick from…too many fabrics, too many colors…to much _thinking_ …

“You feeling okay there, Mr. Wentz?” the tailor, Claude, an older gentleman with grey eyes framed by thin wire glasses, a neatly shaven goatee, asked as he measured the length of his legs as Pete stood stalk still on the platform in front of at least five mirrors.

Pete’s reflection was frowning back at him, nerves visible in his eyes and in the tension in his shoulders. God, he needed to relax. “Yeah, just…” Pete sighs, closing his eyes as Claude stopped what he was doing and stood, fixing his own damper outfit, a matching grey suit pants and vest with a soothing blue button up shirt underneath, sleeves rolled up to his shoulder. “You know how I get this these things…”

Claude nods in understanding, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket and scribbling something on the page before tucking it away and moving to pull the measuring ribbon across his shoulder. “You’ve never been fond of this stuff, but I promise,” Claude starts, taking another measurement from his shoulder to his wrist. “This session and the one after this one is the most tedious, so just bear with me. But if you need a time out, just let me know.”

Pete nods and lets a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He feels childish to be getting worked up over all this, hell, it’s just a fucking fitting for crying out loud!

“Mr. Stump was a little anxious as well when he came in.” Pete’s ears perked up at Patrick’s name, turning his head over to look at Claude as he placed a piece of fabric over his shoulders, marking and adjusting as needed.

“Really?”

Claude nodded before he continued. “He was nervous at first, but once I got him talking a bit, he relaxed. He did well for his first ever fitting.” Pete smiled at the thought of Patrick standing on the same pedestal, anxiously twitching and fiddling with his fingers in the most adorable fashion. He just wished he could have seen it firsthand.

When the label had reached out to Claude for his services, much like they always do when they are in need of suits or tailored outfits for appearances, pictures, ect, the tailor had been welcoming to the idea, but had sadly informed the label that he didn’t have any back-to-back appointment to fit in Pete and Patrick _together_.

It had bummed Pete out a bit, because if anything Pete was looking forward to about this Gala, was to see Patrick in a _fucking_ _tailored_ suit. Not that his boyfriend didn’t looks spectacular in worn jeans, a soft cardigan and a David Bowie t-shirt, hell no, Patrick was amazing in every which way, especially when said barista was flushed and breathing heavily, laying with his back pillowed on sofa cushions, shirt rucked up slightly, lips kissed a sinful shade of pinky-red…

Pete loves Patrick in anything he wears, anyway he _looks_. But in a suit? Pete was _dying_ to see that.

“Did you both plan out a style?” Pete asked, curiosity getting the best of him as Claude took one last measurement of his chest, bringing the ribbon around his middle.

“Shoulders back a tad bit more, please,” Claude instructed, Pete doing as he was told, before the tailor made a nod and muttered a number under his breath before letting go of the tape, and jotting down something on his note pad. “We did, we had a good conversation yesterday on what it was he felt comfortable with wearing, but,” Claude pauses, draping the ribbon around his neck, a kind smirk on his face. “He asked me if it were possible to keep it under wraps from you.”

Pete’s shoulder dropped and his lips twisted into a childish pout, causing Claude to laugh goodheartedly as he adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wentz! I’m swore to my own secrets as a tailor.”

“Aw, come on man! At least a color scheme or something,” Pete grins, knowing full well that he isn’t going to get a lick out of Claude, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

“All I’m allowed to say is that it’s simple.” Claude smiles, beckoning Pete to hop off the pedestal and over to the work table filled with samples and draped in various patterns. “Now, we need to decide on yours.” The tailor starts, bring over a board of filled with samples and shades of grey made from different fabrics. “Anything in particular you would like, Mr. Wentz?”

Pete looks thoughtful for a moment, fingers gliding over the samples before eyeing another on a separate board. He’s always been one with sometimes ‘questionable’ fashion-sense, often pushing the envelope and attempting new trends and statements, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Pete likes being loud, bold, and obnoxious with his clothes sometimes, it was differently his defining feature when he was younger, with his neon shirts, skin-tight girl jeans, artfully smudged eyeliner that was actually eyeshadow, and nail polish. He’s matured more than that…kinda, but he still has his moments.

Much like right now.

“I don’t want boring,” Pete starts, picking up a purple swatch and placing by a grey one. “If I’m going to do this Gala, I’d rather go all out.” Claude nods besides him, looking for another board and bringing it to Pete’s attention. “Yeah,” Pete says, looking at the newly revealed swatches Claude had produced. “Something like that, I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb, but I guess I want to make an impression.”

“Understandably,” Claude commented. “I take it purple will be the statement color?” he asked, eyeing the swatch Pete was currently looking at. The CEO nodded, “Yeah, but maybe a pattern…”

The rest of the appointment consisted of Pete and Claude piecing together a combination of patterns and styles that suited Pete’s taste, a mix of deep royal and hued purples and light and storm-cloud greys. Something about the process felt comfortable to Pete, unlike the other sessions and suits before, perhaps it was the fact that Patrick was going to be seeing him also, and maybe it was because he wanted to look good for him too…

No matter what it was, Pete felt _good_ about the suit, the fabrics, the color, the style… _everything_.

“Alright, Mr. Wentz,” announced Claude, marking down notes on a same notepad that he had used to make Pete’s measurements. “Give me about a week and I’ll have something stitched up, from there we’ll do alternations.” Claude looked up and smiled at Pete, extending his hand out to shake the CEO’s hand. “I’ll be sending photos of updates via email. If you have any other ideas, feel free to call me.”

Pete nodded, clasping his hand in a shake, grinning.

“I appreciate it,” Pete thanks grinning up at the tailor. “Just make sure Patrick and I look decent,” he laughs.  Claude returns it with his own chuckle, looking down at Pete’s selections and then back at him.

“Oh, don’t worry about that Mr. Wentz. I’ll make sure you and Mr. Stump steal the whole damn show.”

_**......** _

Pete’s back in DCD2 headquarters as soon as the appointments over. As soon as he’s stepped off the elevator, Jenna one of the secretaries, waits to greet him. “Hey Jenna,” Pete greets, accepting the tablet that she holds out for him.

“Hey, Boss Man, how did it go at Claude’s?” She asks easily, walking with him as he makes his way through the bustle of the floor.

“Good, good,” he says easily, swiping through various documents on the tablet, many of them bar graphs and line charts. “Okay, so what’s been going on?” And Jenna does just that, telling Pete about rises in sells and possible out looks on shirt sales and other merch. Jenna clues him in on Max’s new single that’s going to be dropped on Tuesday and that pre-orders for the single and the album are through the roof, as well as other on-goings that are he needed to be aware of.

“Call Max, ask him when would be a good time for us to get together so we can walk him through the process and start setting up radio appearances to promote,” he says, as they made their way to the frosted door leading to his office.

“I’ll coordinate it with your schedule,” she smiled. “Team meeting is Friday at 1pm and Joe and Andy want to drag your sorry butt there, and they said, and I quote,” she makes the air quotation gesture before she continues “‘We’ll chain his ass down to the chair if we have to’. I didn’t know you were into BDSM, boss,” she giggle playfully.

Pete blushed furiously, which only cause Jenna to crackle louder. “Oh my god!! I’m so not touching that ever again,” she cried, wiping a tear for her eye. “Anyways, I’ll set up your calendar…Oh! And Patrick’s in your office, he came in about 30 minutes ago.” And like that, Jenna simply turned on her heels and walked back to the front, tablet in hand leaving Pete alone at his door.

Pete’s eyebrows raised up, blush fading, at word of Patrick in the vicinity and quickly turned to the door. Opening it slowly, Pete was greeted to the sight of his barista boyfriend sitting cross-legged on the loveseat in the office, his back reclining on the arm of the sofa as he typed away on the laptop nestled in his lap, headphone plugged into it.

He walks up behind him as carefully as he could before he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the barista’s cheek, surprising him.

Patrick easily melted into Pete’s touched, pulling his headphones off so they rest comfortably around his neck, before reaching up to tug and maneuver Pete around, leaning up to capture his lips with his own with a grin.

“How did your fitting go?” Patrick managed to get out, as Pete continued to kiss his cheek, making his way down to the smooth, pale skin of his neck, making Patrick do an adorable, but also utterly sexy intake of breath.

“Good,” Pete said in between kisses, “I’m actually looking forward to this suit.”

“That’s good,” Patrick sighed, pushing Pete off of his neck to kiss him properly once more. It was gentle with no real heat behind it, which made Pete whine. Patrick only rolled his eyes before indulging the older man once, parting his lips ever so slightly, allowing Pete the entrance he’s been begging for.

If it were up to Pete, he would say ‘Screw the label’ and forgo the meeting and responsibilities that came with being a fucking CEO to simply make out with his beautifully, amazing boyfriend on his couch, but that little dream was shattered the instant Patrick pulled away, cheeks stained pink and lips kiss-swollen and plump. Pete needed to file that image away for later…

“As much as I love to make out with you, I have a term-paper to write.”

Pete pouted, sticking his bottom lip out adorably. “But I’m more fun than term papers,” Pete teased, leaning in to lay one last kiss on Patrick’s pulse. “I can be _so_ much more fun.”

As tempting as it was, Patrick was resilient, and only playfully shoved Pete away with a smirk on his lips. “I know you are, _but…_ ,” he dragged on. “I need to finish this first.”

Pete sighed dramatically, flinging himself onto the opposite end of the sofa. “Freakin’ buzz kill,” he muttered, which earn him a kick to the thigh from Patrick.

“Ouch!”

“Asshole,” Patrick chuckled, no malice in his voice. “You have work to do too, Jenna wanted me to make sure you do your reports and review and sign some contracts.”

“So does that mean I have to go back to working like a real adult?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Patrick resumed his typing on his laptop, glancing at Pete over the screen when he didn’t move. “The faster you finish, the faster we can get take-out.”

When Pete didn’t move, Patrick grinned, resorting to the next best thing.

“The faster you finish, the faster we can get take-out _and_ make out on the couch back at your place.”

Pete shot up like a rod at that, eyes wide as he looked over at Patrick. “Really?”

Laughing, Patrick only nodded, rolling his eyes as Pete jumped up and walked over to his desk, staring at the stack of files and contracts he had to go over.

“Oh my god, you’re so easily persuaded.”

Pete only shrugged. “What can I say, if food and a make-out session with my favorite human being in the whole is part of the deal, I’m game.”

Patrick only response was to shake his head as he typed. Sometime later, after reading through some contracts and invoices that needed a CEO’s approval, Pete broken the comfortable silence as he was glancing through another contract.

“So…what’s yours goinna look like?”

Patrick looked up and turned to Pete, a fine brown raised at Pete’s question.

“Your suit,” Pete clarified. A look of understanding flashed over Patrick’s featured before turning back to the screen of his laptop, typing away as his lips curled into a teasing smile.

“Guess you’re gonna have to wait and see…”

“Aw, Babe!…”

Patrick only shrugged, something shifting slightly in his eyes, so minute, so small, that If Pete hadn’t gotten to know Patrick so well over these last five and a half months, he wouldn’t have noticed it. But he did.

“I think you’re going to like it,” was all Patrick said, his ocean blue-green eyes never leaving the screen.

“I know I will.” Patrick turned to meet his gaze, Pete’s words flowing from his lips easily, like silk sheets against skin.

Seeing Patrick return his gaze with a small smile, he knew it would be worth it. He knew Patrick would look absolutely stunning in whatever he and Claude came up with.

Patrick’s already stunning, even more so as he returns to his paper, a faint blush on his cheeks.

God, Pete can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wink wink* Lol there will be more to come! I'll proably go back and re-edit this chapter, but for now, I wanted it posted.
> 
> Thank you so sticking with this series, and I promise, this part will get better in the next chapter or two
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading!
> 
> -Xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

Pete’s phone buzzes as he’s reviewing pages of contracts. Taking the welcomed distraction, the CEO sneaks a peek at the screen the find a text from Patrick.

 _From Trick <3:_  _  
__I feel silly_

Pete grins as he types away own response, smiling as his fingers fly discretely over the keys.

 _To Trick <3:  
_ _silly? doubt it, id say sexy if your at ur fitting_

 _To Trick <3:  
_ _i wanna see…_ _pretty please?_

The text bubble pops up as Patrick types on the other end. Pete knew today was Patrick’s last fitting. After about four weeks and about three fitting appointments, their suits were just a few finishing touches away from being complete, just in time for the Gala that was just only two days away. Pete’s suit was completed and simply needed a few slight alterations, nothing Claude couldn’t do in a jiffy, while Patrick’s was having his final fitting today.

The month flew by far too fast in Pete’s opinion, but everything was ready—their flights, the hotel, the suits, and anything else they might need. Tiffany, their event coordinator, had made sure everything was done and executed to a tee, all he and Patrick had to do was fly there, which was another thing Pete was not looking forward too.

The plan was that they would take off Friday morning, land hopefully without the plane crashing or exploding in the sky, get to their hotel, suit up, go to the Gala, and they were done. Pete simply wanted to get it over with, to show face, try not to punch anyone in the fucking throat, and be done with it. The next two days were just to take in New York and be tourists, as his boyfriend has never been to the Big Apple before.

He wanted to make it special for Patrick, kind of like an end of the semester getaway, hell, maybe even a little getaway for the both of them, something away from Chicago, from the label, from work, from school, something just for the both of them to enjoy. Patrick needed a break, especially after this semester, and luckily, the guys at the coffeeshop were more than happy to cover for Patrick’s time off since the fall semester had already ended.

Another buzz brought Pete broke Pete away from his thoughts.

 _From Trick <3:  
_ _I don’_ _t think so. You’_ _re going to have to wait until Friday._

 _From Trick <3:  
_ _Im sure you can wait two days_

Pete grinned as he read the text.

 _To Trick <3:  
_ _(crying emoji) two days too loooooong_

_To Trick <3:  
_ _but I can wait. I’_ _ll always wait for you <3._

_**......** _

Considering that finals were nearly over and done with, the shop is _packed_. The cookies and cupcakes that Brendon had slaved over a hot oven for are flying off the shelves faster than Hayley and Brendon can bring them out. But the coffee is flowing, hot chocolate is bubbling and the music is playing, all mixing with the busy chatter of their customers, and Patrick, well, he's enjoying it all.

“Peppermint Mocha and a Chai Tea Latte for Roxanne!” he calls out as he placed the drinks on the bar. Two girls bundled up in thick coats and scarves smiled and gave him a thanks as they reached for their drinks and made their way to leave. Patrick is moving like clock-work as he started the next order. It’s busy, but the good busy, the kind that made the day fly by a whole lot faster, sure he might’ve had two or three rotten customers during his shift, but he didn’t let it phase him. He was in too much of a good mood to let it affect him anyways— his finals were done, and he had passed, meaning he only had one more semester to go before he could graduate.

Plus, Friday he’s flying to New York with Pete.

He isn’t going to lie, he was more excited about that than actually being able to apply for graduation, which honestly says a lot considering how long Patrick’s dedicated himself to making sure he actually _could_ did that. But with Pete…it was different, a good different.

“Oh my mermaids, you’re smiling!” Hayley sings with a playful nudge of his shoulder. Patrick looks up from the espresso machine that he was currently standing at, mechanically filling and pressing espresso before sliding them under the steam with ease.

He rolls his eyes as he beings to froth milk, only for Hayley to squeal even more. “Holy seashells, you’re actually fucking blushing! You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” she teases, pinching his cheek, causing him to swat playfully at her hand. “You two are flipping adorable! I can’t take the amount of cuteness the two of you give me!”

“Who’s cute?!” cried Brendon, bringing out a fresh tray of cupcakes, grinning like a madman.

Patrick groans and nearly starts banging his head against the espresso machine as Hayley giggles, “Patrick! He’s got it BAD for a certain semi-tall, dark, and handsome guy with tattoos and a killer smile.”

“ _Pete and Patrick sitting in a tree_ …” Brendon starts to sing, which results in Patrick grabbing the nearest row of unopened cups and flinging them over at the dark-haired barista, causing him to scream rather girlishly and run to the back.

“Finish that song, and I and see what happens…” He glares at Brendon’s retreating form.

“Brendon, Hayley, you can harass Patrick during his break, not when were’s swamped!” Gerard reprimanded goodheartedly, sighing with mock annoyance as he swipes a customer’s credit card at the register. “Sorry about them,” he explained to girl who only giggled, “They’re just idiots.”

Hayley wrapped her arms around Patrick, kissing him on the cheek. “We’re really happy for you Patrick, honestly.”

“Thanks,” he smiled back, all the heat and annoyance directed at Brendon’s stupidity, gone, even as the younger boy nudged him on the shoulder with his own grin and a wink as he passed by with a fresh tray of sweet smelling cookies.

They mean well, he knows that, but it didn’t help that they _actually_ knew how to get under his skin. It was just their own weird way of them showing they care. Patrick wasn’t lying when he would say he had the craziest best friends ever known to man, especially now that Hayley sporting a new mermaid inspired dyed-do, a grey fading into teals and blues and made her skin glow, and Brendon’s recent obsession with Queen, often heard belting out his pretty amazing Freddy Mercury impression from the kitchen for all to hear. Gerard was pretty tame for the most part, but he did have his crazed-artistic moments from time to time…and Patrick…well Patrick was just _Patrick_.

They were odd in their own little ways, but Patrick always thought that their oddness always added a bit of charm to their little coffeeshop.  

Nearly half another later and about another fifty drinks orders made, he’s retreating to the sofa in the back room for his break. As he pulls his phone out of his pocket he notices a notification for a text from Claude, letting him know that final touches on the suit were done, along with a few added additions.

 _From Claude:  
_ _Everything will be shipped to the hotel in New York. I’_ _ve also added a few options, as per Mr. Wentz, just to choose for your liking._

 _To Claude:  
_ _Options? Should I be nervous?_

 _From Claude:  
_ _Not at all, I made sure that no matter what option you choose, it will go with the suit. It’_ _s nothing as overly extravagant as Mr. Wentz’_ _s taste, I assure you._

 _To Claude:  
_ _Alright then, I trust you. I appreciate everything, Claude. Thank you._

 _From Claude:  
_ _You’_ _re very welcome, Mr, Stump. It was a pleasure doing business with you, and I hope to see you in the future._

“Hey.”

Patrick looked up to see Gerard walk into the breakroom, a bottled water in his hand as he brushed firetruck-red hair away from his face.

“Hey Gee,” Patrick greets, as he moves to make room for the other barista to sit.

“Are you excited for your trip?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says but hesitates a bit before continuing, “I guess I’m a bit nervous, too.”

Gerard raised a dark eyebrow before inquiring gently, as if not to be too intrusive. “About what?”

Patrick shrugs, feeling the familiar heat coloring his cheeks to an embarrassing shade of pink. “Don’t laugh?”

“You know me, dude. I’m just as stupid as Brendon and Hayley, but I at least know when to dial it down.”

Patrick could only nod as he then tried to figure out how to word what he wanted to say without sounding like a complete imbecile. After a moment, he throws all eloquence out the damn door and says, “I guess…I’m nervous about…ugh, holy smokes, man I’m gonna sound like a fucking idiot.” He groans as he takes off his fedora and places it on his knee, letting his hands come over his face. Gerard, bless his heart, stays patient and doesn’t utter a word until Patrick’s ready. “I’m kinda freaking out about…the sex…”

Gerard tilts his head slightly, letting his chin rest on the open palm of his hand. “But, you’ve slept with other guys before.”

“Yeah…”

“But like…full on sex? I mean, I know there was that one time a few years back at Brendon’s Frat Party and we’re pretty sure that was you moaning…”

“ _G-GERARD_!” Patrick sputtered, face turning a delightful shade of red as Gerard grinned madly but didn’t once say a word, instead, let the other barista finished as he tried to avoid the other’s eyes. “I’ve had sex but like, this it…it’s different with Pete,” Patrick tries to explain, the color of his cheeks fading slightly as he gathered his bearings. “I’ve been kinda holding off on it...  It’s just…I don’t know Gee, I think I’m just freaking out a bit because I don’t want to screw this up…” Something inside of Patrick stalls as he looks down, the floor suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the room as he gathers his thoughts, carefully trying to word what he was trying to convey. With another heaving sigh, he takes off his fedora and turns it around in his hands. “I just don’t want to be notch on another bedpost, not when I’ve gotten to really know him…I know it’s stupid of me to think, but part of me thinks he’s just in for the sex and once he gets it he’ll vanish into thin air like everyone else,” he says softly, the last word laced with something neither one of them can describe but can perfectly understand.

Gerard nods slowly in understanding, the words settling between them before he quietly adds, “Honestly, I don’t think Pete’s like that. If he was he would have been gone a long time ago and wouldn’t even bother doing half the stuff he does.”

“So its just my crappy self-esteem rearing its ugly head?”

“More than likely. Kill it with fire, Patrick,” Gerard jokes, which causes the both of them to laugh softly, Patrick shaking his head as he did. It’s an inside joke from Brendon, in which he often calls for any negative thoughts to be ‘Destroyed by fire!’( _Which is  often followed by a comical screech of “Keep your bad vibes outta my cupcakes!”_ ) He hates being in a shitty mood at work, especially when his self-deprecating thoughts decide to come and mess with his head, but his friends are always willing to lend him an ear or a shoulder to lean on, and he’s more than welcomed to do the same to anyone of them in return.

It’s just can’t help it, the nagging self-doubt, hyper-critical thoughts that dance around his head, making him self-conscious and hyperaware , no matter how hard he tries, but at least he’s getting better at it, Hayley, Gerard and Brendon, would be more than happy to vouch for that…

“Do you love him?”

The question came completely out of left field, causing the blonde haired barista to make an undignified “huh?” and made Gerard chuckle good-heartedly.

“Do you love him?,” he repeated easily, with a knowing grin. “Because, honestly, the way you look at each other when he stops in for his coffee, it speaks for itself—it’s stupidly cute, and now I understand why people say I look like a love drunk idiot whenever I’m with Frankie. ”Patrick only gives him a look, questioning, but at the same time curious, causing Gerard to chuckle and smile and he continued.

“I know you’ve seen it, it’s kinda like the way my whole demeanor changes whenever Frankie walks into the shop. Brendon’s called me out on it more than a few times, and I’d never thought I’d live to see the day, but he’s right.” The red-headed barista explained. “Do you ever get this feeling that your whole word just seems to be a little bit brighter and a little more bearable whenever you see Pete? Or if you can’t stop smiling and you look forward to calling or texting him as soon as you’re done with class or your shift?” Patrick pauses for a moment and turns his attention back to the fedora in his hands, this thoughts racing to all the moments that Pete’s stepped into the shop, ever since the very beginning, to when he slid over his card with his number, to when he picked him up for their first pizza date….every time, Patrick swears his stomach does flip-flops, and the whole world just seems to fade out to only _Pete_ …

“I can’t really explain it,” Gerard starts as a smile of his own graces his lips. “but it’s kinda like everything seems to feel _right_ whenever your with them, even if you’re having a bad day, just seeing them or hearing their voice just makes things a million times better. And it’s even enough for others to notice. We’ve seen it, it’s like you light up whenever they’re in the shop and how you seem more at ease after talking with him for a bit, and you can’t seem to take your eyes off of him—you’re just so… _happy_. I get what Brendon and Hayley talk about now, because I see it with you, man,” says Gerard as he flashes a megawatt smile over his way as he continues, “Fuck Patrick, you practically _glow_ , and honestly, that’s pretty special that someone could have that effect on you. So, in my honest opinion, I think you’re nervous about going all the way is because your heart, whether you want to believe it or not, is one hundred percent invested in this guy, Patrick.  You love Pete, and maybe that scares you a bit?”

Patrick opens his mouth to say _no, no I mean I like him, but—_ and then stops, mind catching up. _Love_. Maybe…maybe that’s why…maybe he does love Pete, that's why he's so nervous….He thinks of the butterflies in his stomach, the gentle touches and the private kisses, of late nights spent lounging around on the sofa in each others apartment with pizza and beers and just _them_. It’s the quiet moments in Pete’s office, hidden away from the outside world, but still setting foot into Pete’s world, it’s the fact that Pete trusted him with that part of his life, without ever needing to push.

It was the trust in letting Pete come so close into his life, when Patrick had always been avoidant in the past in his other relationships, but with Pete…there were no warning flags or uneasiness. It was…it felt _right…_

_Love…_

Gerard watches him closely and smiles.“Looks like you've got some thinking to do. I'll leave you to it." Rising from the couch with a consoling smile, he leaves Patrick to sit with the stacks of syrups and coffee cups and his thoughts.

_Love…does Pete feel the same?_

_**......** _

They were all around one of the tables, cups of frappacinos and lattes along with some leftover cupcakes from the day littering the tabletop, comfortable silence in the air as they went along with their end-of-the-week bookkeeping duties.

The shop was closed and everything was cleaned and tidied up, and all that was left to do was count up the tills for the week and determine the pay. Everything was always split evenly, more than half the money went in to maintaining the shop and weekly supplies, the remaining was split among themselves.

Hayley and Patrick where sitting on one side counting bills while Brendon and Gerard went through receipts and transactions on their computers, making sure everything was right as rain before closing up shop for the week.

“So,” started Hayley as she noted an amount on the legal pad before stretching her back, her eyes looking over Patrick’s way. “You’re leaving Friday morning right? Are you excited about New York?”

“Yeah, I’ve never been to the East Coast, so I’m excited,” he smiled, placing another stack of ones on the table.

“I’m sure that’s not the only thing you’re excited about,” grinned Brendon with a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows, causing Patrick to blush a pale pink.

“We’re _so_ not talking about this,” Patrick muttered, darkly, his eye already twitching with annoyance.

 ” Brendon sang playfully, Hayley letting out a loud laugh herself and she joined in.

“I hate the both of you,” Patrick groaned, letting his head fall to the table to hide the flush that he was pretty sure was starting to become a permanent fixture on his cheeks. “Gee, make them stop!”

“Unfortunately, I’m gonna have to agree with them,” he replied easily, causing Patrick to let out another frustrated groan, the word “ _traitor_ ” blending into the muffled sounds. He propped himself back into an upright position, his hands covering his face as he he listened to Brendon and Hayley blab on and on.

“So, you’re gonna have to make sure you’ve got the good condoms—“

“Yeah not the cheap ones either, you’re gonna want something sturdy…Oh! The ones that are textured might be fun—”

“Eh, not unless they’re feeling adventurous, just gotta be sure you've got the lube.”

“Flavored lube.”

“KY is always best!”

“ _Turn the bed into a slip n’ slide_ ,” Brendon began to rap/sing, which caused Hayley to nearly fall off her chair laughing, Brendon giggling madly right along side her as even Gerard couldn't help the snickers that escaped him.

If anything, it made Patrick feel like he was actually morphing into a _fucking tomato_.

“I hate all of you. _So. Fucking. Much_.”

When the giggle fits had started to die out, Brendon and Hayley wiping away tears from their faces, gasping for breath before another laugh attack struck.

“Aw, man…Dude I needed that after the busy day we had,” Hayley sighed, finally breathing and sitting upright like a normal human begin. “You know we just joke. We just want you to be careful in case you and Pete decide to have sexy time.”

“Yeah, like we might laugh now,” Brendon started, sipping from his drink, “But if he breaks your heart or hurts you in any way shape or form, Frank is shady enough to know how to hide a body, right Gee?”

Not looking up from his screen, the fire-truck red headed barista nods.“While I think I should be offended, Brendon’s got a point— we’ll make it look like an accident.“

“He breaks your heart,” Hayley agreed, “We break every bone in his body.”

Patrick looks up at his friends from behind his fingers. He knows they're joking, and he knows sometimes they like to push his buttons a little too much, but he knows they care. He knows they’re stupidly protective of him, and that if they didn’t care they wouldn’t be giving him as much hell as they are. He doesn’t know what he did to get them, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve them— it only makes him cherish them even more, even though he wants to murder them half the time.

“Just…,” Brendon starts, a pensive look coming over his face as he leans back in his chair, smiling genuinely over at Patrick. “Don’t do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing or that you’re not ready for, okay?”

Patrick’s expression soften at the tone of his voice. He’s used to Brendon joking around and being the mad-hatter of sorts in their little group, but this, this is different and he’s hasn’t seen Brendon like this in about three or four years, when they first throughout about opening Coffee for Closers. It’s not serious, but more like heartfelt, and it makes Patrick feel _safe_ in a way he’s always known he’s been with his friends.

Patrick nods slowly. “Yeah I know, thanks…but you know I’m not a baby Bren, I’m like three years older than you.”

“And five inches shorter, but we don’t bring that up,” Hayley grins, her own smile warm and contagious. “We’re just looking out for you, Patrick. Pete’s a good guy, if he wasn’t or we had a bad feeling, we probably would have sabotaged it from the beginning.”

“Like how we did with Brendon,” Gerard adds smoothly.

“Yeah just like- Wait _what_?!” the taller barista cries, clearly taken back by this new revelation.

“You’re a big boy, so we trust you know what your feelings really are for Pete.  We just want to make sure that you’re happy and  no matter what happens, we’re always here for you,” the other barista adds, clearly ignoring the way Brendon is gaping like a fish, looking between Hayley and Gerard. 

“That being said, we want details when you get back,” Hayley winks, a still confused Brendon still trying to figure out _what the fuck_ his friends meant by sabotage…

Patrick smiled back in return. They’re looking out for him, they always have, and this…he doesn’t know what he did to deserve friends like this, but he’ll forever be grateful. Tomorrow will be full of packing and then he’ll be on a flight to New York with Pete the next morning. But tonight...it's just his best friends and it's awesome.

He thinks about Pete’s smile and the butterflies reappear in his stomach again, his heart starts doing a weird little jump and skip and the world just seems to slow to a slight stand still… He’s nearly certain now.

If there’s anything he’s learned today is that his friends, despite the idiotic tendencies, might be right one thing—

Patrick’s in _love_ with Pete.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you all wait nearly six months, as I posted Tumblr a while back, this chapter, along with the next chapter of this fic was already written out, but then my laptop crashed on me, causing all sixteen pages that I had worked on to vanish. That being said, this chapter wasn't as good as the first time around, but I'm just happy its posted! 
> 
> Moral of the story: SAVE YOUR DOCUMENTS KIDS, ALWAYS SAVE YOUR DOCS EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT DONE.
> 
> Hugs goes out to [Flame_and_Jade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade) for being the best Beta and cheerleader in the whole world <3 <3 <3, and to everyone who has left comments and kudos on this fic! You guys are simply the best, and I have no idea how you guys can stick with this fic so long especially with my crazy update (or lack there of) schedule, if I could, I would send cookies to all of you!
> 
> Thank you for reading, my dears!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update? Yes! And not six months late! (well, 3 but whose's really counting...) This chapter dragged on a bit, but I promise, things will get interesting in the next one. 
> 
> Enjoy <3

He hates flying.

He hates flying with a _fucking passion_.

Pete forgets how much he hates the rush and the anxiety that came with all those flights, the too-big airports with too many damn people, security checkpoints, baggage inspections, and of course the fear of actually missing your damn flight. All in all, it drives him crazy and the bubbling anxiety that boils and churns in his stomach makes it difficult at times to fly without the aid of a Xanax. That little blue pill of hazy tranquility running through his veins, making him feel numb and blissfully out of his mind.

“You okay?” Pete’s pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of  a velvet voice beside him, and it just _does_ something to him, almost anchoring him in the rough waves of anxiety. That voice is  the lighthouse on the edge of shore, a bright ray of light in the darkness of his mind illuminating the way to safety and stability, all while wearing that stupidly adorable fedora hat and sweater paws.

He still doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone like Patrick.

“Yeah,” Pete breathes as they make their way to their terminal, smiling over at the barista attempting to hide the restlessness itching under his skin, “Yeah, I’m good.”

Patrick gives him an apprehensive look--ocean blue-green irises with the smallest hint of hazel today--and is about to question him with the intercom announces that their flight is boarding.

From the terminal to their seats, it’s a blur of lines, tickets being checked and making their way to their first class seats. They secure their carry-ons and take their seats, Patrick taking the window with Pete sitting close to the aisle. _A quicker way to get to the bathroom so I can puke my guts out,_ he thinks grimly.  Patrick shoots him another worried glance, he knows it from the way his brows furrow slightly with worry before his phone pings with a text, his attention drawn away from the CEO for just a moment. Pete’s grateful for the small distraction as he also looks at his own phone, sending off rapid fire emails as the plane fills with people to distract himself

The cheery announcements come once door is closed, and the flight attendants review their usual spiel of safety, which honestly, Pete could do without, he’d rather not think of the plane spontaneously combusting in mid-flight or imagine the possibility of an engine catching fire and plummeting into the earth….yeah, no thanks.

Once it was all said and done, their phones switched to airplane mode, he leans back heavily into his seat, trying to take a deep and steady breath. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it and God knows he really doesn’t want his anxiety to win this battle as the plane starts to take off, but he slowly feels himself shaking, chest starting to slightly constrict, his palms beginning to sweat  and his foot tapping faster than his own heartbeat.  He’s so tempted to  reach into his carry-on and dig out the bottle of Xanax  and swallow away his worries; he knows he should have taken before they took off, before they boarded, hell, before he even left his damn apartment. But he didn’t because he just wanted to be strong enough to do this on his own, he wanted to _prove_ himself that he could handle this, but damn it, he’s caving because he fucking hates flying so damn much...

“Hey, it’s okay,” a voice softly lulls, “Just breathe.”

Pete’s eyes snap open and if he’s honest, he doesn’t remember when he actually closed them. They dart to his boyfriend sitting beside him, smiling gently as his fingers curl around his own where they were digging into his own thigh. “Just…in and out, Pete,” Patrick guides, his voice barely above a whisper, as if to make sure no one could hear them.

Pete does as he’s told, in and out, in and out, squeezing Patrick’s hand on every inhale and releasing it on every exhale, the blonde even breathing with him at times.  There’s a few more deep breathes before he wills himself to relax, to focus on the warm hand over his own, moving to lace their fingers together, Patrick’s fingers  are beautifully pale against his own tan skin. He focuses on that for a few moments before he feels steady enough to look over at him and meets warm ocean-blue eyes. “Not a fan of flying?” Patrick asks with a comforting grin, his voice soft and unbelievably warm, wrapping around Pete like a blanket in the dead of Chicago’s notorious winters.

Pete laughs nervously, embarrassed as his heart stills pounds slightly in his chest. “Never have been, I actually fucking hate flying,” he admits while squeezing Patrick’s fingers tightly before bringing their slotted fingers to his mouth, kissing his boyfriends knuckles gently. The action caused Patrick to flush the palest shade of pink as he rolled his eyes, snatching his hand away only to rest it  on Pete’s knee, waiting patiently for the dark-haired man to continue. “I usually pop a Xanax before we take off to help calm me down, but I didn’t…I guess I just wanted to prove myself.”

“Pete,” Patrick sighs, but Pete can hear the disappointment in Patrick’s voice and he can’t help but this whole thing is going down the drain too damn fast and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

In the months that they’ve been dating, Pete finally felt comfortable and _safe_ enough with Patrick to open up about his manic and depressive episodes, about his bi-weekly therapy session and daily dosages of yellow and white pills and the occasional blue tablet for moments such as these to keep him stable and sane.  And in honestly, Pete had been prepared for the worse, had been prepared  for Patrick to tell him that he was ‘ _too much to handle’_ or that Patrick would walk out of the door and out of his life for school, scaring off the one golden thing, no, _person_  he had in his life, not that he could’ve blame him for wanting a ‘ _normal_ ’ partner not some pill-popping, impulsive, fuck-up who could control his moods and had a habit of destroying everything good around him.

But Patrick didn’t leave, Patrick didn’t stand from his place on the couch in Pete’s office and walk straight out of his life or curse him out or call him ‘ _crazy_ ’ like others did before. Instead, when Pete had finished confessed this secret, Patrick quiet and attentive throughout Pete’s entire word-vomit like speech, he simply slipped his own hand in Pete’s, squeezing it tightly before leaning in and kissing his cheek with such tenderness, the dark-haired boy was certain he was going to cry.  Pete was so used to people leaving, to other not wanting to deal the fuck-up he was, but Patrick…Patrick stayed, his free hand coming to cradle his cheek before guiding him into another kiss, only this time, their lips found each other, slow and sweet and so full of love and understanding and _acceptance_.

 _“You’re not a fuck-up, so don’t put yourself down like that, you ass_ ,” Patrick had muttered softly against his lips as they sat close to each other on the plush dark grey sofa. “ _You’re still you, Pete, it’s just part of who you are but it doesn’t define you, not matter what you may thing.  Thank you for trusting me with this. And if there’s anything that I can do, please let me know, I don’t think of you any less…”_

_“I don’t blame you if you do…”_

_“But I don’t, you jerk face. You’re still Pete Wentz who likes his mocha frappuccino with a single shot of espresso and chocolate chips, or a grande mocha latte with caramel drizzle, and who sings along to catchy top 40 songs when you cook and has an unhealthy love of Lucky Charm Pancakes at all hours the day,_ ” he grinned, and Pete can’t help but return it with his own megawatt smile as he wrapped his arms around the softness of Patrick’s waist.

_“Don’t hate of Lucky Charm Pancakes, my inner child’s already craving them, don’t tempt him.”_

Patrick only rolled his eyes. _“Whatever, the point is,”_ he pauses and his places a gentle kiss on his forehead, “ _you’re still you. And really…thank you, Pete_.”

“I didn’t want to risk it,” Pete explained softly, slipping his hand back into the warmth of Patrick’s own, his thumb rubbing against the delicate skin between Patrick thumb and forefinger in soothing strokes. “I didn’t want to take one and be completely zombied out, it takes me hours for me to stabilize, and I don’t want you to have to worry about me like that,” Pete mindfully forgets to mention out loud wanting Patrick to _see_ him like that…maybe it was his pride talking, but he’s been doing good, and doesn’t want to mess it up now…

Patrick looks skeptical but adds softly, “I get that, but you know there’s no shame in taking one if you really need it, Pete.”

“I’ll be fine, babe, it’ll pass. It’s just a short flight,” True, he had made sure Tiffany had gotten them the fastest flight without any unnecessary layovers, because the quicker they got there, the quicker Pete could breathe when he’s back on land, but still, the flight from O’Hare to JFK was two hours… Pete could keep himself sane for two hours….right?

“Why don’t you take a nap,” Patrick suggested, “I’ll wake you up when we land.”

Pete’s hesitant, but at the same time, he can’t resist the thought of a nap right now, not when he’s been up all night worrying about his damn flight and the fucking Gala and having to socialize with the music industry's’ biggest assholes…Pete’s sure Patrick see right through him, and truthfully, Pete’s been having a hard time saying no to Patrick.

“Are you sure, I don’t want to be a-” the older boy is cut off when Patrick roughly tugs at his upper arm, causing him to lose some semblance of balance and land against Patrick’s shoulder.

“Quit being a stubborn ass and sleep,” he hears Patrick mutter, but Pete can practically hear the smile in his voice. Unable to resist, Pete melts against the younger boy’s shoulder, adjusting himself so that he leans as comfortably as he can against Patrick, his head pillowed on Patrick’s shoulder. And suddenly, it’s like the raging seas in his mind have come to a standstill, no more treacherous waves, only gently laps at his mind, keeping him afloat rather than trying to drown him…maybe it’s the physical contact, but Pete can’t explain what Patrick does to him. He’s focusing on Patrick’s breathing, on steady in and out of his breaths as Patrick’s head comes to rest against his own.

Another deep breath and Pete can feel himself falling into the warm embrace of sleep, his eyes getting heavier as his breathing starts to even out, the word around hims starting to slowly fade, even as he tries to fight against it. But Patrick’s holding his hand, grounding him, anchoring him, and…is he humming? Pete listens carefully and he hears it—the gentle hum of a song he can’t place his fingers on, but it’s low and soothing with it’s own R&B feel that somehow it's one hundred percent, unmistakably _Patrick_.

He wants to bottle it up. He wants to bottle it and hide it away and take it out and listen to it when the demons in his head won’t let him sleep, the nightmares get to horrid to bear, and reality seems far too much to understand and comprehend. Pete wants to be greedy and hoard that beautiful melody all to himself and let it lull him into a peaceful sleep. More importantly, he wants it because it’s _Patrick,_ the shy, beautiful barista that capture his heart with a simple smile, that like to watch Star Wars on rainy days and wears cardigans with sleeves to long they fall over his hands. It’s coming from the Patrick that puts up with his stupidly busy hectic schedule, who falls asleep on the couch in his office while writing papers on the evolution of chords from the Baroque period to 21st century music.

As he drifts into the oblivion of sleep, he feels another soft press of lips against his temple, a gentle send off into the world of sleep where Pete can finally put his mind at ease, and in the end, it’s all he needs.

He still couldn’t fathom how he got so damn lucky.

_**......** _

“-ete…Pete… Hey, wake up, sleepyhead,” he wakes slowly at the soothing call of his name, his boyfriend’s voice cutting gently through the fog of sleep that had blanketed him the moment he rested his head against his shoulder, but now, he’s bringing him to the surface, the gentle pull up to shore of wakefulness, but honestly Pete doesn’t want to leave. Not yet at least.

“-ive mor’ minutes ,please,” he breathes against the solid warmth beneath his cheek, trying to bury himself further into the cotton soft, coffee laced-warmth that Pete could only describe as purely _Patrick_.

The shoulder he’s resting on shakes slightly as the younger of the two chuckles, fingers rubbing in soothing circles against his scalp, causing him the hum at the touch, leaning into it as much as he could. “I don’t think so, babe, we’re just about to land.” Something in Pete’s chest warmed at ‘ _babe’_ , it make his heart do those stupid little leaps that made him grin like an idiot, which he was pretty sure was doing. Pet names were more Pete’s department, as he had successfully come up with a variety for Patrick, but to hear the endearment fall from Patrick’s lips, his _boyfriend’s_ lips, he felt _right_ , and almost like coming _home._

Again, how the fuck did he get this damn lucky?

His eyes slit open, before he closes them tightly before bringing a hand over his running roughly over his eyes before covering his mouth, unable to suppress a yawn as he stretched as best as he could in his seat. He groans at the feeling of the satisfying pop in his back before he slumps back into his seat rather ungracefully, much to Patrick’s amusement, if Pete can tell from the sarcastic roll of the eyes that Pete always found rather adorable. He makes himself comfortable against Patrick’s shoulder once more, just as the announcements come overhead.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the  John F. Kennedy International Airport. Please make sure one last time your seat belt is securely fastened. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.”_

“I knocked out,” Pete mused, his voice rough with sleep as he readjusted himself into a upright position, but not before feeling Patrick press a reassuring kiss to his temple.

Patrick nodded as he adjusted his seat belt. “For the whole two hours. How do you feel?”

“Honestly? The best fucking nap ever,” he grinned easily, just as a flight attendant walked passed and checked on them, before moving on to the next row. “Can I count this as one of the best flights I’ve ever been on? I didn’t have a freakout, so I couldn’t that as a major plus.”

Patrick hummed as he felt Pete’s fingers laced with his own. “Well, I’m glad, you look better.”

“A million times better,” he turns over and meets his eyes, blue and gold, and everything Pete couldn’t help but fall for. “Thank you,” he breathes softly, his eyes softening as he takes in the image of of the man sitting beside him, his hand warm and anchoring in his own.

“Any time,” Patrick smiles gently in return, squeezing at the fingers twined in his own, a gentle reassurance. There’s a moment of comfortable silence at falls between them as the plane descends, before Pete speaks. “So did you pass that level of Candy Crush?”

Patrick’s eyes turned to steel with annoyance and anger in a flash.“Don’t fucking remind right now,” and Pete couldn’t help the loud bray of laughter that escaped him. It was official, Patrick was twenty times cuter, and not to mention _hot and utterly sexy_  when he was pissed.

Once they landed, everything seemed to go smoother, and Pete was eternally grateful that the plane didn’t spontaneously combust in thin air, or like, gotten hit by a bird strike…yeah he was just happy he be back on land, to say the least.

On top of that he felt _rested_ , which was a miracle in and of itself if he were to be honest. As they walked over to retrieve their luggage for the carousel, they made their way out of the terminal, Pete’s arms wrapped securely around Patrick’s waist, eliciting a flush from the blonde along with an annoyed mutter of “I’m not a child, I’m not going to get lost” but Patrick didn’t pull away, if anything, he moved _closer_.

“I swear, what are you doing to me,” Patrick chuckled as they waited for their marked luggage to appear. “If Brendon were here, he’d call me out on the PDA.”

Pete raised a single dark brow. “Never been a fan?”

“Nope, I’ve always been,” Patrick stumbled for words, hands moving in circles as he thought. “I don’t know, I’ve never been one of the affectionate types…I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Wentz,” the barista said dramatically before melting into Pete’s side, his arm wrapping around Patrick’s shoulders as he placed a kiss to the top if his fedora.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to keep doing it because I love it when you get all cuddly,” he teased, a playful tone in his voice and a glint in whiskey brown eyes .

“Shut up.”

Once their luggage was gathered, they made their way out of the terminal, only to see a man in a finely pressed suit and hat waiting along with several others, only his carried a small  white board with “Wentz” written neatly in black.

“There’s our ride,” Patrick looked over at Pete, confusion washing over his face as Pete guided them over the awaiting man in the sea of people.

As they approached, the man greeted Pete with an air familiarity and a kind smile. “Mr. Wentz. Good to see you again, sir. Welcome back to New York.”

Pete reached out to shake the man’s hand, a grin coming over his own features. “Thanks, Jackson. Good to see you,too.”  The man nodded in return before his eyes, a icy silver-blue, looked over at Patrick. “Good afternoon, sir. Jackson LeRox, I’ll be Mr. Wentz and your chauffeur for your stay.” The confusion on Patrick’s face melted into shock as he nodded over at the man, before he spoke once more. “If you’ll follow me, the car is waiting outside.”

As the followed Jackson through the airport, out of their terminal, Patrick turned over to Pete. “A chauffeur…really?” he asked rather incredulously.

“Hey,” Pete started, shrugging his shoulders in his defense. “I don’t plan these things, that’s Tiffany’s job. I just go where I’m told, I have no say in any of this I swear.”

“Yeah…sure…”

“Dude! I swear!”

They bundled into a rather nice, and if Patrick would add _expensive_ , car, Jackson placing their luggage in the trunk, and rode off into the city. It had been a lengthy drive, maybe a little over half an hour with the traffic, but neither of them seemed to mind, Pete had been busy typing on his phone, muttering under his breath about ‘ _stupid emails’_ while Patrick gazed out the window as they drove now into Manhattan from Queens, eyes lighting up in awe as they passed glorious buildings and massive skyscrapers, particularly the Empire State Building, and fucking _Madison Square Garden_ . With his phone forgotten in his lap, Patrick felt like a child all over again in a new place, looking out in awe and wonder of a place he had only seen and hear about, never _been_ to.

“This is amazing,” he said under his breath, his voice filled with awe as they passed through the ever busy and luminous Time Square and by the red neon lights of Radio City Music Hall, and numerous theaters with colorful signs and posters for musical.

“It’s you’re first time in New York, right?” Patrick was drawn out of his trace, by the softness in Pete’s voice and the familiar weight of his hand resting over his knee. He was grinning at him, and Patrick keeps on forgetting what that damn smile does to him every time,

“Um.. y-yeah…It’s just…wow…” Patrick sputters slightly, embarrassed at having been caught, but yet, he couldn’t help himself, he eyes drifting back to the window as they pass Carnegie Hall. “It’s incredible.”

“I’m glad,” there’s something in Pete’s voice, something he can’t place, but it makes his chest brust with warmth as he places a hand over the one of his knee, not yet ready to draw his attention away from the wonder right outside the car window.  “I want to take you to some places tomorrow. Anywhere you wanna go, or anything you want to see or do, we can do it.”

Patrick’s head turns fast over at the dark-haired man,  his blue-hazel eyes wide with surprise at Pete’s offer. _Anything?  Pete doesn’t really mean_ … “No, Pete, you don’t have to do that—”

“I mean it, we’re here for two nights and we fly back to Chicago Sunday afternoon, I mean it, we have time to catch some shows –”

Patrick leveled him a small glare, before turning back to the window. “You don’t have to spend that kind of money on me, Pete,” he said quietly, a hard edge to his voice.

Pete sighed, cursing at his boyfriend’s sudden,but adorable reluctance, that always came from when Pete offered to pay for things. It’s not that Pete liked to flaunt around his hard-earned label money, honestly, it’s just that Pete wants to _take care_ of Patrick and enjoy himself without having to worry financially. Call him a sap, but Pete just wants Patrick to be happy. “I know you don’t like it when I spend money on you, I get that,” the both of them had gotten into an argument a week before when Pete refused to let Patrick pay for his flight. It wasn’t anything major, just Patrick’s pride getting in the way and besides, budget for the Gala allowed for _two_ people, hence everything was taken care of and not a dime was spent over-budget, as per the amazing Tiffany. “I just…I just want to make this awesome for you”. Pete unbuckles his seatbelt for a moment and scoots over to sit directly behind Patrick, kissing the spot at the apex of his neck and shoulder as he wraps an arm around his waist. “You’ve done so much for me, you have no idea. Just please let me...let me do something nice for you.”

Patrick’s quiet for another moment, before he relaxes into the touch. “Let me think about it.”

Pete grins into his neck, kissing the same spot once more. “Thank you.”

It’s only a matter of minutes before they pull up to the hotel in the middle of a bustling street close to Bryant Park. Patrick couldn’t help but look up in awe at the mirror like windows adorning the skyscraper, a dark banner along the front contrasting beautifully against the glass. _Park Hyatt New York_.

Pete only smiled as he nudged Patrick slightly. “It’s a whole like prettier inside,” he said with a sly smile, as they exited out of the car, their bags slung over their shoulders, Patrick looking on, gobsmacked at the sheer size of the hotel

“Pete…” Patrick said, his tone that practically screamed, ‘ _This is too rich for my blood and I don’t even deserve to even step inside the lobby, What the actual fuck_ …’

“Patrick…” Pete sang easily, his own stupidly big grin threatening to split his face in half at Patrick’s expression _alone_ , causing Pete to laugh, planting a chaste kiss to Patrick’s forehead as he continued to look at the building in awe. “Tiffany’s pick not mine! I had no say in this whatsoever. It’s in budget, I _swear._ ”

Finally breaking from his shock, Patrick simply turned his head over to Pete, a fine brown-blonde eyebrow raised and he gave Pete a _look._ “I highly doubt that…”

_**......** _

_Fucking Peter Wentz_ , Patrick thought as the arrived at their room on the freaking 20th floor. Well, it wasn’t exactly a room, more like a damn _mega-suite_ . What they entered was what Patrick had assumed to be the living/common area of the suite, which was incredibly spacious filled with some seriously comfy looking sofa, a state of the art flat screen TV and fucking floor to window view of the city which was absolutely _stunning_ . The color scheme itself was a little warmer than the one in Pete’s office, but cooler than his apartment loft but the modern style was absolutely _there_ and it was _Pete._

“ _This is in budget?!?”_ Patrick nearly screeched, his voice teetering on the edge of marvel and disbelief, gawking in the middle of the living room area, as Pete simply strolled in, as if it were a normal room, because in all honesty, _it wasn’t_. Sunlight shone brightly through the windows, casting a warm glow over the crisp white, grey, black, and chrome accents of the room and the sleek furniture that decorated the room. On either side of the living area was two large doors, both open to reveal the interior of the rooms, which were mirror images of each other-- spacious, modern, plush, and with fucking floor to ceiling windows.

“Again, Tiffany. Not me,” Pete repeated easily, as he follows Patrick, watching his child-like amazement and wonder shine as plain as day on his face.

“I swear to whatever God there is , what the fuck is up with you and floor to ceilings windows…” Patrick asked as he walked into the bedroom that was designated his, due to the garment bad that was hung neatly by the full length mirror in corner of the room, next to the desk looking out over the skyline.

Pete just shrugged, “Aesthetics?”

“Aesth-what?”

“Aesthetics, you know, like having an appreciate for something because it’s beautiful?” Pete tried to supply helpfully, but Patrick settled him with another look, that may or may not have sent delightful shiver down his spine. “Anyways, you like it?” his voice turned slightly sheepish as he watched the barista walk around the room, taking in everything from the soft pillow top mattress and Egyptian cotton sheets, to the large adjoining bathroom.

“Dude, this room is literally the size of my apartment…”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Pete starts, glancing around the room. “But if you factor in the bathroom and maybe part of the living room, then you might be onto something.”

It was Patrick’s turn to chuckle as he reaches for Pete’s hands, intertwining them in his own, bringing the older man down with him onto the sofa at the foot of the king size bed, all arms and legs, and smiles, their luggage placed in their respective room by hotel staff and their bags forgotten in the living room..

“This is ridiculous...” The blonde breathes out, a smile betraying him as his slowly graces his lips when he feels Pete’s own lips starting to trail down his neck playfully, nipping at a particular sensitive spot close his to ear, causing a soft, breathy, but high pitched sound to escape his lips.

“Again, you want to talk to Tiffany? Be my guest,” Pete grinned into his neck, kissing his cheek softly before moving so that could wrap the blonde completely and comfortably in his arms on the sofa. “Like I said, she makes the plans, I just hop on the plane, nerves and all, and let people take me where they may.”

“That sounds like a recipe for trouble,” Patrick starts,craning his neck to look at the man, his hands running down the expanse of inked, tan skin on this boyfriend’s forearms. “What if you get on the wrong flight or get into the wrong car? They’ll be selling your organs on the black market all because of your stupidly.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Pete contemplates, mocking seriousness, dark brows furrow in thought. “I guess I _should_ pay more attention...but that’s why I rarely come alone,” he shrugs easily, causing Patrick to laugh. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on me, make sure my liver doesn’t end up on the auction block online somewhere.”

  
“Guess that’s where _boyfriend duties_ come in,” the barista chuckles as he feels the warmth of Pete’s fingertips dance along with small sliver of pale skin expose from where his shirt had ridden up. “All of this is _insane_.”

“We’re only a 10 minute car ride away from where the Gala’s going to be held,” Pete mentions easily. He’s about to say something else when he phone rings insistently in his pocket. He untangles himself for Patrick with a groan as he struggles to pull it out of his pock. Glancing at the screen, a look of annoyance washes over his features, but then looks at Patrick with an apologizing look. “I’m sorry, its–”

Patrick gives him a knowing look as he nods. “Don’t worry about it, they’ve been blowing up your email too. You’re still technically on a business trip.”

Pete grumbles as he begrudgingly swipes at  the phone. “Wentz,” he speaks lowly into receiver, moving to stand from the sofa, but not before catching the blonde’s lips in a quiet kiss. “Yeah, I’m good, just got into town.”

Patrick shoves at him playfully, motioning him to go take his call to the other room, the older man turning to give him a rather dramatic looking puppy pout, trembling lip and all, as he walked backwards out of the room.  

It wasn’t until maybe 30 minutes later that Pete had returned to the room, his boyfriend still lounging on the sofa, eyes focused on his phone but the rather large flat screen television in the room turned on to the Food Network.

“Whatcha watching?”

“The Pioneer Woman,” the blonde responded simply, typing away.”She just showed this recipe for chocolate cupcakes with cream filling and a chocolate ganache on top, I’m sending the recipe to Brendon so he can start experimenting at the shop. And he also wanted to make sure I landed in one piece and you’re not some crazy stalker-murder that wants to kill me…”

Pete couldn’t help but laugh. “And the verdict?”

Patrick looked thoughtful for a moment before going back to his phone. “It’s still debatable up to this point about the stalker part, but I have a good feeling about the cupcakes, might be our next big hit, Brendon seems to agree from the GIFs he’s sending me,” he shrugs before breaking into a grin.

The CEO joins him again on the sofa with a weak chuckle, something that causes Patrick to carefully eyes his boyfriend as he’s bringing his legs settle over his lap.”Glad to hear.” Pete pauses for a minute before continuing. “So…One of the suits from the label wants to have a meeting. They’re still not letting up.”

The barista moves his places his phone down and sits up. “You’d think by now they’d get the fucking hint,” Pete nods in agreement, he scrubs a hand over his face, and Patrick just can’t help but notice just how tired Pete looks, even with his nap on the plane. “When do they want to meet you?”

“In an hour, they’re sending a car to pick me up in 30 minutes.”

“What?! Why so soon?”

“Because I’m available and in town. Honestly I’d rather get it over with than have to deal with it later. Kinda like ripping off a bandaid, y’know? Do it fast to get it over with.”  Pete exhales heavily, fingers playing along the rough denim covering Patrick’s legs. “I fucking hate doing this to you, but will you be okay on your own? It shouldn’t take me too long-”

“If you’re asking me if I’m going to set the hotel on fire while you’re away, I can assure you that I have more self-control than that,” the blonde says rather flatly, one single brow raised, clearly not amused.

“Cool, just wanted to make sure,” Pete grins, reaching over to kiss Patrick, who smiles into the kiss as careful, tan hands come to cradle his face. When Pete pulls away, there’s something written his face, an emotion that Patrick can’t comprehend, but before he could ask, Pete speaks softly against his lips. “God I feel like such a dick.”

“Don’t. You’re on a business trip, dumbass. You do what you need to do, I’m just happy you wanted me to come along.  ”

“You sweep me off my feet with your pet names, Rickster.”

“I try, but seriously Pete, don’t worry about me.”

Pete looks over at his phone. “I swear once I get out, I’m taking you to dinner and we’ll get ready for the Gala,” Patrick’s about to make a noise of protest before Pete cuts him off with another kiss, the blonde melting into it easily, trying to bring himself closer, like a moth to flame. “Don’t even try. Just let me spoil you, _please_.” The last part coming out in a breathy whisper that Patrick is 100% certain he’s heard before, laced with sweetness and something raw, maybe even just a little desperate. It’s hard to say no to, it was back when they were getting lost in desperate touches and needy kisses on the blonde’s couch, and even now with in a luxury hotel room in New York City… 

And Patrick only agrees because he loved the way Pete’s whisper sent a familiar thrill down his spine.  
When Pete leaves sometime later with a kiss and a promise of ‘ _I’ll be back soon_ ,’ he’s slowly starting to realize how increasingly difficult it is getting to say no to his boyfriend, and Patrick can’t find it in himself to care at the moment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Flame_and_Jade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade)! 
> 
> Considering everything, it was a pretty good day, why not share the love with you all with a update! <3
> 
> And just a fair warning, there are a few POV shifts, so sorry if that throws anyone off! 
> 
> Enjoy

He keeps glancing at his watch, fiddling with his cuffs and before going back to his reflection in the mirror.That becomes an attempt to tame any wayward strands of dark hair, moving to straighten his tie, adjust his jacket. _Fucking nerves._ Pete moves around the bathroom in his own suite trying to calm down as best as he can, but as much as he tries, his hands still have a slight shake to them, a tremble when he tries to hold them still, and it’s getting fucking annoying really quick.

He’s been a little on edge since he came back from his meeting, a near screaming match with some executives trying to rob his label out from under him, trying to control the thing Pete’s worked so hard to build and make thrive and he’s not, no, he _refuses_ , to let anyone take it from him so easily.

_“What you fuckers don’t understand is that unless you give me what I want written in black and white, in paper , I will defend my label until the end, and you’d damn well better know that I’ll be fighting every single one of you until my breathing stops…”_

Was he a little rash? Sure. Hot-headed. Duh. A pushover? _Fuck no_.

They should know this by now, but from the meeting earlier, it was painfully evident that they didn’t, even after all this time.Being back in the hotel room was godsend, it calmed his nerves to wrap around a napping Patrick who had found his way adorably to the bed only to fall asleep on top of it while _Cupcake Wars_ played in the background, phone forgotten on the plush comforter and glasses adorably skewed.

He couldn’t bring himself to wake him, so instead he just watched the steady rise and fall of his breathing, slowly matching it with his own before falling into his into a light nap, waking Patrick with playful, teasing kisses an hour later after he had discreetly removed himself from Patrick’s warmth to order some room service.

Once they had eaten, Patrick had retreated to his suite to shower and get ready, Pete having done the same.

“Stupid tie,” the older man had muttered to himself as he tugged uselessly on his black tie, seriously thinking about forgoing it. He looked at himself once more, straightening his back as he pulls on the dark grey of his suit jacket, contrasting nicely against the deep purple, nearly plum, of his shirt. Claude clearly out-did himself— everything fit comfortably and sat perfectly. The combination of colors was something he and Claude had discussed extensively about, the charcoal grey of the jacket and trousers went along perfectly with the tucked and fitted deep plum of his dress shirt and matching pocket square, the sleek black leather of the belt and shoes tying the whole look together, and if Pete was going to be honest, this one might be his favorite suit of all time.

There had been a note on the breast pocket, clearly from Claude from to the elegant scroll. _Enjoy the night and kick some ass, Mr. Wentz._

He grinned a little, looking at the tie in his hand and then back to himself, before exhaling softly as he hung the soft material of the tie around his neck, deciding to  tie it later. Making some final adjustments, he made his way back to the suite, grabbing his wallet and tucking it safely into the inner pocket before slipping on one of his _nice_ watches that he had packed specifically for the Gala. Giving himself one final glance-over, he decided this was the best it was going to get before snatching his phone from it’s charger and making his way over to the living area between the two suites.

His nerves were starting to make him tremble a bit more, making him tug rather anxiously at his jacket, fiddle with the untied ends of his tie, and roll his shoulders while he replied to some texts, thumbs flying over the keyboard with lightning speed as he sent back his thanks to Andy and Joe, and several others from the label, who were wishing him good luck, which was helping him take his mind off of the inevitable, even if it was just for a moment.

Tiffany had called him almost as soon as he had sent of some texts, asking the CEO if everything had been set up as planned.

“Yeah, everything’s good. Tiff. We’re just about to head out, I’m just waiting for Patrick.”

 _“Good!”_ came a rather cheery voice from the other end of the line. _“Did Patrick throw a fit over the suite? I kinda hoped he would!”_

Pete couldn’t help but laugh. Tiffany, for all her organization and planning that could make even the most seasoned of planners jealous, had a playful streak to her despite her diva-like temper that came out every so often, that even Joe, Andy, _and_ Pete were _terrified_ to ever cross her. She could talk a mile a minute and walked so fast in her heels, she looked as though she might be flying through the halls, but she knew what she was doing. When she had heard Patrick was going on the trip, she made it a point to make sure everything was extra perfect.

“Just a little,” Pete chuckled, the conversation helping to distract him. “You would have loved it.”

 _“Everything is in budget,”_ she sang, _“He needs to ride the wave and enjoy it. You do too, boss! So I did you and Patrick a favor and moved your departure flight from JFK on Sunday from 2pm to 5:15pm, and made the both of you a reservation at that Keen’s Steakhouse at 12pm so you can eat before you board, that gives you two time to have a lazy morning, grab some amazing food and be back in Chicago no later than 8pm so you and enjoy the remainder of your vacation.”_

Pete grins as he shakes his head in awe, a chuckle escaping his lips. “What would I do without you Tiffany?”

_“Probably get lost in New York, kidnapped, then have your kidneys sold on the Black Market.”_

“Patrick said nearly the exact same thing.”

_“See! I knew I liked him! If the Gala goes well, I want to set up some more appointments with Claude, he seemed to take a liking to Patrick, too.”_

“Let’s get through the Gala first before you even start planning the next event.”

 _“Ugh,”_ Tiffany moaned is playful annoyance. “ _Crush my hopes and dreams why don’t you. Anyways, I’ll let you go, the red carpet photos are just coming in, so get there soon. And knock’em dead, Boss.”_

“I will. Thanks Tiff.”

“Was that Tiffany?” came a voice from behind him, a smile laced in the tone.

Pete put away his phone into his suit pocket. “Yeah, she just wanted to make sure it was going-” the dark haired man lost all sense of his words as he turned around. It would have been cliché to say that time stopped as soon as he saw Patrick standing in the doorway that lead to his suite, that the world stopped turned and everything simply froze for a moment, that everything came to a sudden blissful standstill.

But it was true; Patrick looked amazing.

Where Pete’s suit had been designed to be a little more fashion-forward, Patrick was the definition of a modern classic in a black tuxedo--a fitted and sleek jacket, the fabric looked deliciously soft to the touch, over a crisp white shirt with tapered black pants, finished off with black dress shoes. It was a smart looking suit, but couldn’t help but smile at the purple accents that played nicely against the black and white of the suit— a plum colored pocket square folded into a rather artfully looking triangle, and plum colored bowtie, that from a distance looked dark enough to be black, but in the light, matched up perfectly. Bringing the look all together was a custom made fedora that he had asked Claude to include for Patrick.

“Uh..,” Pete whispered, eyes going wide and his heart racing.

Patrick chuckle was music to Pete’s ears, and he’s pretty sure he wasn’t going to get tired of hearing that anytime soon.

“She just wanted to make sure it was going ‘ _Uh_ ’?” his boyfriend smirked as he readjusted his hat, his other hand running through cinnamon colored hair, fluffing it up adorably.

“I-I mean, she was just asking if everything was going good,” he tried to correct, eyes still wide as they looked over the barista. “Dude…”

His boyfriend’s shoulders stiffened, a flash of uncertainty and concern coloring his eyes as he looked down at himself, “What? Does it look okay?” He began to tug nervously at his sleeves, eyes averted. “It’s a little different and I trusted Claude with the cut, he said something classic would be good for a first suit and-”

Pete was quick to silence the blond with a kiss, his warm, tan hand sliding underneath Patrick’s tailored jacket to rest on his side, feeling the barista melt into his touch, shoulders slumping as the tension bleed out.. “You look amazing,” Pete said with stupidly wide grin on his face, eyes shining as if it has been Christmas morning, hell, at this point, Patrick _in a suit_ were enough to be his birthday _and_ Christmas present combined. “Holy shit, you look fucking amazing. I mean the suit looks awesome, too.”

Patrick dissolved into a laugh before playfully shoving lightly at Pete’s shoulder.“You’re such a fucking dork.” His eyes look calmer, Pete noticed, they’re soft and the dark of the suit brings out the blue-green of them, but the white of his shirt extenuates the hazel around the iris. It reminds him so much of the beach, of the waves and the sand, the waves crashing, the salty sea air, tranquility and beauty in one human package. “You don’t look to bad yourself, Wentz,” Patrick complements. “Though I gotta say, I’m kind of liking the purple scheme you have going on.”

Pete shrugs as he scratches the back of his neck. “Label colors, when I designed the original label’s logo, it was heavily black and purple based. And I like the color purple too.”

“Claude said that he was going to give me a color option…I figured it was so that we could be matching in a way.”

“I swear it wasn’t my idea,” as he noticed how the plum bowties and pocket square matched his own shirt. “Not only do you rock the fedora, but you slay with the bowtie, dude.”

“We’re dating, Pete, there’s no need to to lay it on _that_ thick,” the younger man mumbled, a flush rising quite fast on his cheeks as he leveled the darker-haired man with a annoyed glare.

“Just accept the compliment, dude,” Pete grinned, kissing Patrick’s cherry-red cheek. “Car’s already outside, ready?”

“I think,” Patrick felt himself for his phone and adjusted his fedora once more, before Pete noticed the way his tie hung loosely around his neck. “Do you some help with that?” motioning to the tie.

Pete looked down before pulling the tie from where it hung and throwing it over to land on the plush sofa cushion. “You know, that tie probably cost more than my fucking rent,” Patrick remarked, a fair eyebrow raised.

“Probably, but I think I’ll pass tonight, I don't want to feel like something’s strangling me,” he saw Patrick nod before giving him another smile, as he felt the warmth of Patrick’s fingers twine with his. “It’s a shame, I think it would have looked nice, but I get where you’re coming from,” Patrick replied easily. Then his eyes softened ever so slightly before hearing the soft whisper of “You ready?”

Pete sighed, dread and anxiety of the situation returning, gnawing at his insides. It was simple to forget why they were here, and even easier to say ‘Fuck it’ and stay in their suite and hideaway under the sanctuary of the plush comforter and silk-soft sheets, to curl around Patrick and let the steady beat of his heart and the feel of his hands in his hair, on his skin, letting his touch calm his medication-frayed nerves and worries.

But he can’t.

He has a responsibility, he made the commitment, and now he has to follow through and act like a fucking adult. At least he can do with Patrick at his side, anchoring him.  

“No, but let’s get bullshit over with.”

_**......** _

Multicolored dots colored his vision as he walked away from the flashing cameras, Patrick’s hand carefully sliding into his, a warm, steady palm anchoring him to reality, even as confetti-like shapes danced in his vision and his heart was desperately trying to beat it’s way out of his chest. “Are you okay?” he heard his boyfriend whisper through the clicking of the cameras, the deafening chatter of the paparazzi, and the roaring of his pulse in his ears.

“Yeah, just give me sec,” Pete breathes, rubbing his eyes, trying to will away the bright white shapes from the flashing cameras. He knew he had to do photo ops, and, not to sound conceited, he knew he _looked_ good, knew how to smile just right for the cameras to play off his _‘rogue-record-label-bad-boy’_ aura that every photographer told him to channel during magazine shoots, but that didn’t he necessarily _liked_ it.

He dealt with it, he played his part as carefully and correctly as possible, because the faster he did as he was told, the faster it was over with. Give the people what they want, that’s something he learned quickly in this industry, and the same could be said for red-carpet events: Show up, look good, smile for the cameras, and move on. But it never gets easier, the heart is still in his throat, and his anxiety and nerves beat relentlessly at his stomach, making him feel sick and his vision blurs from the onslaught of the flashing lights and the calls of his name along the sea of faceless people, bodies with cameras for heads. It feels like the room is closing in on him with every second and every shutter of the lense, like the collar of his suit is choking him, suffocating him even though he’s not even wearing a tie, foregoing the troublesome accessory and simply undoing a button or two.

And while the cameras were flashing, Patrick’s on the sidelines, in the shadows, keeping a careful eye on Pete throughout, and the older man was so tempted to motion over to Patrick to join him, to hold his hand, anchor him, and take him away, but he doesn’t want to do that to him, the tabloids would go insane, it would be like fresh, bloodied meat in a sea filled with sharks, starving and waiting for a bite. He couldn’t do that, not when Patrick’s just getting a true glimpse of the toxic, soul sucking, two-faced world Pete dabbles in.

‘ _I’ve given so much of myself to the label, to this industry, it can kill you or make you_ ,’ he recalls telling Patrick a few nights after Patrick had helped him sift through mountains upon mountains of paperwork when his label was threatened. _‘It nearly destroyed me, but Joe and Andy were there every step of the way. There’s times I wonder if it’s worth my sanity, but to see people like Gabe and Max make the music they want, and to see how stoked they are to make it, to see people love it…that’s what makes it worth it. I want to be polarizing and make it about the music, not the money… the suits don’t see it like that, the want to snuff out the misfits like us. So I’ll keep fighting…_ ’

 _‘They must hate you for that,_ ’ Patrick had said softly from his side where he learned against on the loveseat in Pete’s office.

 _‘I just a fucking menace to them,’_ he grinned proudly, even though he knew Patrick could see just how mentally exhausted he was.

“Pete?” he’s brought back to reality when he feels Patrick squeeze his hand, they’re both in the shadows, ignored cameras as they hunt another victim.

“Sorry, babe, just spaced out a bit.” The blonde doesn’t look like he fully believes him, even as he nods, but doesn’t say anything, only receives a reassuring squeeze from the hand in his before they follow up the stairs through the ornate double doors that lead into the ballroom.

Champagne and liquor are flowing freely, and Pete’s willing to take a glass or two for some liquid courage, his boyfriend grabbing a delicate glass flute when offered. “Anything I need to know?” Patrick asks quietly as he takes a sip from his glass, Pete doing the same as he scans the room, recognizing some faces from a distance, as well as a few others he’d rather not remember.

“That I absolutely love you for coming with me, and if anything fucking horrible happens, I’m sorry in advance and I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

Patrick turns to Pete, eyes soft, and his lips part as if he’s about to say something until he hears his name from behind him. “Pete?” he turns around and sees a older woman wearing a rather sharp looking pant suit, short, pastel, bubblegum hair and bold red lipstick. “Well aren’t you a sight for my old eyes!”

“You, old? Never Nettie,” Pete laughs, relief and warmth instantly flooding him at the sight of his old friend as the woman smiles and envelopes him in a hug, thanking whatever deity above for the comfort of the familiar face.

“I was worried you weren’t going to show. I was hoping you can stick it to these stuck-up assholes after all the shit they’re putting you through,” she said, her voice low and seething with an almost joyful tasting venom.

“I almost didn’t.” Pete turns and laces his fingers with Patrick’s as he motions the younger boy forward with a gentle nod of his head. “Nettie, this is my boyfriend, Patrick,” he introduces, nerves and a look of awe washing over his features as he comes face to face with the grinning woman. “Patrick, this is Nettie Beck, she’s been a mentor to me since the beginning, she runs Domino.”

“Boyfriend?!” the woman’s eyes light up as he reaches to shake Patrick’s hand. “Oh my goodness! Pete you hit out of your league with this one! It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart!”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Patrick says awestruck. “Your label signed on Anti-Sound, right?”

“Oh yes! I wonderful group of guys, they have a really unique vibe to them that I couldn’t pass up.”

“Their use of the synthesizers is pretty amazing, I would have never thought to use synth as a harmony to the bass line, plus the mixing and mastery of their last album was on point, not that their previous two albums were bad, it just felt more…”

“Whole,” Nettie filled in, as Patrick nodded as he flushes, catching himself in one of his music-ramble moments. “Not only is he a cutie, but he’s got good taste in music,” she turns to Pete, “Definitely a keeper! Patrick, if Pete ever breaks your heart, I’ll be more than happy to kick his sorry little ass for you.” Pete replied with a mock scandalized “Hey!” even as Patrick laughs, but she continues. “Are you a producer?”

“Oh no! Not at all. I’m still in college, but I’ll be graduating next semester, but I want to be a producer one day.”

And, as if Nettie finding him had been the miracle he has been begging for, his saving grace, he’s being led by Nettie as she’s talking to him and Patrick about producers, Pete joining in the conversation about people they’ve worked with, experiences, and then branching off to other topics until the woman leads them to a group of people huddled off to the side, but avidly talking to one another. Pete recognizes a few of the faces, friends from labels, producers, mixers, directors. Patrick gets introduced to them all, and Pete watches with pride as he takes everything in like a duck to water, swimming easily in this friendly group of people, talking music and editing, producing and mixing, while Pete catches up with some friends.

It scares him how easy it is, how he feels like he was panicking for nothing, that he was being so childish about the whole thing. “I see you thinking,” he hears Nettie say from beside him as he watches Patrick chat easily with some Pete doesn’t really know, but they’re smiling and just as engaged in the conversation as Patrick is, and seeing the blonde like that helps tame his nerves while letting something inside his chest burn ever so brightly, giving him warmth and strength, and peace….

“Is it just me or are these Galas getting easier?” Pete asks as he smiles. “I was freaking out the whole time, hell I still am a little, I can’t stop shaking, even just a bit, but I’m not trying to run for the exits like I usually do.”

Nettie just laughs. “Oh honey, maybe a little bit of both. Call it a mother’s instinct, but you know I like to protect my kiddos, and you’re one of them.  I didn’t want one of the leaches to get to you first, I wanted to make sure you see a friendly face, to get things started on a good foot. I know you’ve been approached by assholes in the past, last year was exceptionally shitty, and I really didn’t want to see you go through that again,” she explained, her voice taking a motherly tone, even as she sipped her glass of gin. “We misfits have to stick together. DCD2 is proving that it’s possible to survive, and I’m so proud of you for that.”

Pete smiles genuinely over at Nettie with her bubblegum hair. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear. And I also think Patrick’s giving you some of his own brand of courage,his enthusiasm is rather contagious. He’s a good one.”

The CEO looks over and watches as Patrick, along with one of Pete’s friends from Island Records, Sarah, laugh with another couple, who Pete’s pretty sure is one of the CEOs of Atomic Records and his wife. “Think I’m worried for nothing?”

“Oh, hell no,” Nettie scoffs softly, his voice dipping into a low whisper, “There are always sharks in the water, Peter.”

“I know, that’s what I’m worried about. I don’t want to deal with sharks tonight,” he sighs. He pauses for a moment before he continues, idly looking at his glass as he speaks. “They’re trying to get DCD2 from me, Nettie.” The woman turns fully over at Pete as he drinks from his champagne flute. “I worked out a clause so I can start branching with merchandise, I started patenting a few designs so it would be harder to try and sucker me in.”

“Smart move, kiddo.  They can take their negations and shove it up their ass,” she seethed into her tumbler of gin. “Now, go and start networking like a good CEO. I heard from a little birdie that Warner Brothers might be interested in a partnering up after the success you had with Gabe Saporta and Cobra Starship.”

“Does that mean I have to go talk to people like an actual adult?”

“Yes Peter, put on your big boy undies and march to it, young man! You can do it!” And even though the nerves were still there, Pete felt like he could, even more so when Patrick caught his eyes and smiled brightly over his way; he _was_ starting to be Pete’s own brand of liquid courage, and Pete wasn’t about to start to question it.

It’s maybe an hour later once he’s done talking to a label or two, knowing from experience which ones to avoid, that he finds Patrick again, talking with Sarah and another CEO. Pete easily joins in the conversation, comparing notes, and making deals, along with discussing mixing, productions, and other aspects of the label that Patrick’s seems to have easily grasped from his time with him, Andy and Joe.

“You need to keep your eye on this one, Wentz,” a label head tells him with a chuckle. “Patrick here’s got some really good insight on him and will probably make a damn good producer one day!” Patrick sputters at the complement. “If Pete doesn’t pick you up, I will! All you need is some good samples. I can’t promise you the job, but I can guarantee you an interview.” Patrick can’t believe what he’s hearing, and he’s about to ask Pete to pinch him or something because he’s actually getting a chance to _interview_ as a producer for a label, but before he could even say anything, Pete is quick to jump in, stunning him even more.

“I’m afraid Patrick’s already going to have a place waiting for him at DCD2 when he graduates, John,” Pete says easily, causing Patrick to turn his head so fast, the older man was worried he might have pulled something in his neck, eyes wide like saucers as the other man, John, continues.

“Well, if you even change your mind, or want a change in scenery, you can always call me up, Patrick,” John says with a kind smile. “Pete’s been doing some amazing things a DCD2, so I’m sure he’ll have some projects for you to work on. I’ll be keeping an ear out when you do!” John excuses himself with a handshake and a card given both to Pete and then to Patrick, however Patrick’s too stunned by what just came out of Pete’s mouth to even comprehend it all.

“Wait… _what_?” Patrick looks over at him in disbelief, his voice just above a whisper as he turns completely to face Pete.

Pete only shrugs lightly as he moves in closer, close enough to kiss, a smile makes his way over to his face. “It’s been something Andy, Joe, and I have been talking about. DCD2 is all about taking a chance, and I know you’ve been helping out Andy and some of the guys in the production and editing rooms. Plus you let me listen to your stuff for class, and _it’s freaking awesome_ , ‘Trick, not to mention that your singing is out of this fucking world.” The blonde is still looking at him with disbelief, but it isn’t making a move to stop him, so Pete continues. “We wanted it to give you a chance. Max has been working on some new music, and we wanted to have you produce a song or  do a remix or maybe record some tracks of your own, something to get your feet wet, to get the practice. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I guess I kinda ruined it.” He finished with a chuckle.

Patrick can’t believe it, and he’s close to simply laughing and telling Pete that it’s a funny joke, a damn good one at that, but the way he’s looking at him is filled with genuine sincerity. He feels Pete’s fingers interlace with his own, and ponders before he can even begin to form proper words, even at that his voice is small and uncertain.“You want me to be in the studio? Seriously?”

“Only if you want,” Pete reassures. “I won’t push you, but we think, no, we _know_ you have the talent, Patrick.”

“Just…” Patrick pauses, looking away before meeting Pete’s gaze. “Let me think about it.”

Pete breaks out into a stupidly wide grin before bringing the younger boy into an embrace, placing a tender kiss to his shoulder as he whispers into Patrick’s ear. “As long as you need.”

Patrick nods and returns the gesture, Pete feels the petal soft lips on his cheek.  “Thank you, and thank you for bringing me.”

“No, _thank you_  for coming with _me_.”

He feels Patrick laugh softly against him, amidst a crowd of people but completely alone. “Anytime, asshole.”

_**......** _

Things are going well, _too well_ in Pete’s opinion, but then it all turns to shit in a heartbeat. The Gala itself is starting to come to a close, and he and Patrick had retreated to a quiet little corner table, holding hands and leaning in close,  munching on some rather tasty dessert-like _hors d'oeuvre_ s, Pete joking how last year Joe had been so fucking high at the Gala he basically took the whole tray from a waitress and munched out. Patrick was laughing along until they noticed someone approaching their quiet little space, and chills start rolling off his back.

“Fucking hell,” he curses under his breath, causing Patrick to look.

“What is it?”

“And just when I thought I was in the clear….” Patrick’s question goes unanswered, but Pete gives a gentle squeeze to his hand before he stands, his face losing all emotion, turning cold and hard as stone as he see a man approach their table with a menacing grin.

“Well, well, well, the industry’s reject, sulking in a corner,” the man starts, an air of cockiness surrounding him that makes even Patrick want to punch him in the face.

“Hello Devin,” Pete greets coldly.

“Peter,” the new arrival, Devin, responds easily, wearing his arrogance like a medal of honor. “I’m surprised you showed your face this year. I was hoping your label would be buried in the ground or that you’d fall off the face of the earth, or a building if you couldn’t find it in you.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m still here,” he retorts easily shrug. “Not to mention the label’s doing well, thanks for asking.”

“Yes, but we’ll see how long that lasts,” the man grins, and Pete’s trying his hardest not to sock him where he stands just to wipe that smug look off his face. Before Pete could do anything else, he feels Patrick come up behind him, a warm and steady hand resting on his forearm. “Sorry to interrupt,” there’s a change in the blonde’s voice, sounding a lot more professional, and dare he even say colder than what he’s used to, “But there’s an urgent call for you, from the, um...hotel.” He turns and see’s Patrick holding out his phone for Pete to take. He take the phone carefully from his hands, confusion coloring his eyes as he put the phone to his ear

“Yes?”

“ _Hey man,_ ” it’s clearly Joe talking, not the hotel like Patrick had said, but he continues to listen, _“We’re activating Operation: ‘Get Out of Gala Free Card’.Your hotel room is totally on fire or some shit like that, but not really? Andy, help me out, I’m not high enough for this mastermind crap right now.”_ Pete has to stop himself from grinning when the phone shifts over to Andy. “ _Just give me the damn phone... Pete? Walk away, say something’s happening at the hotel and you have address it. Now’s your chance to escape.”_

With the phone to his ear, he glances over at man before him who clearly looked annoyed for being interrupted by the blonde and then ignored, “Good talking with you Devin, but something’s come up.” He looks over a Patrick, nodding over to the exit. “Let’s go.” Patrick’s smiles as he walks beside Pete. Once they’re out of the man’s earshot, Pete exhales a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “You guys just stopped me breaking Devin’s face.”

 _“We may or may not have told Patrick who to watch out for, hence Operation: ‘Get Out of Gala Free Card’,”_ Joe piped, from the background, letting Pete know that he was on speaker on the other end of the line. “ _That jackass is just looking for troubl_ e.”

Pete grinned as his hand slotted perfectly with the Patrick’s as they made their way outside. relief flooding him instantly. “I appreciate the save.”

“ _Anytime_ ,” Andy’s voice came over, “ _Considering you survived three hours, I call this year’s Gala a success. We’ll talk more when you get back to the office._ ” Joe’s voice came over the line again. _“Yeah, good job dude! See you in a few days. Oh, and use protection!”_

“Idiots,” Pete chuckles as a slight flush comes over his cheek as he hangs up passes the phone back to Patrick, who easily pockets the phone it his pocket. “You,” Pete starts, as they reach a quiet, secluded area away from the champagne and bustle business talks,“Just saved my skin.” He slips an arm around Patrick’s waist, bringing him close. “Thank you.”

And the way Patrick smiles and the feel of his arms wrapping securely around his own waist in return was enough to make Pete forget about his encounter with Devin. “I was about ready to break his face for you,” the blonde grinned, shifting closer to Pete. “I was about to throw the biggest bitch fit if he had kept talking to you like that.”

Pete didn’t even try to hold back his laugh, his head falling onto Patrick’s shoulder. “I’m sure Brendon would have been proud.”

“Damn right.” The older man watches as Patrick’s smirk melts into a soft smile when his thumb gently stokes his cheek, ocean-blue meeting warm brown, and Pete can’t help but get lost in them, like he always does.

Maybe it was the fact that they were so close hidden away from the rest of the Gala that makes Pete want to be brave, that’s giving that burning ember in his chest a little more oxygen, a little more courage as he pulls away from Patrick’s shoulder, the fabric of his suit soft against the skin of his cheek and under his fingertips. He looks at Patrick, brave, feisty, loving, coffee-making, musical genius Patrick and the way the dim lights of the courtyard make everything about him seem ethereal, Pete still couldn’t fathom how he got here, how this human being was _actually_ real and _his_ …

“Pete?” His comes out soft and questioning but those eyes are bright with hope and dancing with mirth, his face closer to his, enough to feel the gentle brush of his breath against his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Just kiss me already, you idiot,” There’s laughter in his words and Pete barely realizes that he’s staring, but he can’t bring himself to care, instead he breaks out into a wide grin, his heart bursting like fireworks on  the Fourth of July against the Chicago skyline.

Kissing Patrick is like coming come, Pete finally decides, as he closes the distance between them, the motion itself feels like age-old clockwork, lips sliding perfectly against each other. It’s the safety of Patrick’s arms around his shoulders, circling behind his neck as fingers tangle themselves into the hair at the nape of his neck, grounding him, keeping him anchored to reality, as lips part in a single gasp when he bites down on his petal pink bottom lip.

He tastes like champagne and those sweet raspberry jam hors d'oeuvres they were having, sugary sweet with a slight tang, golden and pink, reminding Pete of Patrick’s hair and his lips—he can’t get enough of it, he needs more, craves more, and _wants_ more as he slips his hand underneath the blonde’s jacket, his palm resting against the small of his back while the other roughly grasps at his pant-clad hip, coaxing him impossibly closer, as lips, tongues, and teeth become desperate, and almost frenzied.  It’s getting increasingly difficult to contain his arousal, Pete quickly figures, as he feels a familiar heat stir between his legs, and even more so to hide it when Patrick is so close.

Before, when things would get like this, Patrick would gently pull away, adorably flushed and panting heavily against his lips, a shy smile against his lips as he would reach down and run his hand along the hard outline of Pete’s cock in his jeans, causing the older man to groan, but going beyond touching was always up to Patrick. They’ve talked about it in length, sometimes when they were more than slightly buzzed, about Patrick’s hesitance which was Patrick’s defense mechanism.   _I don’t like people getting too close, you know? I’m fucking weird, I just, I really like you and I don’t want to screw this up…Just, I guess, be patience with me? God I sound like a fucking girl from a cheesy romance flick…”_ But Pete had quieted him with his own kiss and had mumbled a reassurance that he would wait. _“I’ll always wait for you_ ,” Which was probably another notably cheesy line from a similar movie, but it was the truth.

But, instead of pulling away, Patrick shifted his leg between Pete, letting his boyfriend feel the beginnings of his own erection against his hip.

“Hotel?” Patrick pants breathlessly, lips spit-slick sinfully red from kissing, and a pink flush coloring his cheeks.

Pete automatically missed something under his lips and leans down to mouth against the pale column of his neck. “Yeah,” he breathes against the warm skin there, “Hotel sounds good.” He feels Patrick nod, even as the barista leans his head to the side so Pete can continue to kiss and nip and trail from his pulse point to his ear, feeling the goosebumps rise as he sucks on a spot right under his ear, causing the blonde to gasp out a soft moan in the process.“I want you,” he starts to say into the pale, warm skin. “Is that...? You can always say no,” he fumbles, the heat from everything and the taste of Patrick’s skin making things difficult to process, much less _articulate_ properly.  

He’s hoping, no _praying_ he doesn’t pull back now, but before he could think any further, Patrick’s hands come to rest on either side of Pete’s face, bringing him up crash their lips together in another heated kiss. “I want you, too,” his hands are as warm and sure as the words against his lip. “Please, Pete…”

And that’s all it takes for Pete to text Jackson to bring the car to pick them up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm horrible at updates, and this chapter was longer and going to have smut, but I just split the chapters because I'm getting stuck on the smut, but anyways, we're almost done with this fic darlings! I wish I could write as fast as everyone but I'm usually exhausted and dead when I get home from work, so yeah... It's coming in slowly like always, but thank you for everyone who reads, kudos, and comments! 
> 
> Xoxo


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh would you look at that, the rating changed…And what’s this I see? More tags? 
> 
> Yes my Loves, the chapter you’ve been so patiently waiting for. Here’s you’re nine pages worth of poorly written smut.
> 
> This chapter isn’t beta’d because…well…I couldn’t put my Beta through this flaming garbage pile…so all mistakes and errors are mine, so I apologize ahead of time. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

The ride back to the hotel was tortuous, because despite their fevered kisses, they both knew better than to take things further than playful kisses and promising touches in the backseat of the car. “Unlike you, I actually have some semblance of self-restraint and dignity”, he had joked when Jackson had pulled up at the perfect time, Pete ushering the both of them into the backseat of the car with a searing kiss and a warm hand against the small of his back.

 

But once they tumbled passed the doors of their suite, their sanctuary away from the flashing lights and business deals, it was almost as if they hadn’t stopped kissing out in the courtyard to begin with.

 

“Are you sure about this?” Pete asks the blond, with nipping teeth against his neck as he deftly pushed off the jacket of Patrick’s suit off his shoulders, his boyfriend doing the same with his own jacket, as he started to slip the button of his silk purple shirt from their holes, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor.

 

Patrick shutters as Pete starts to suck on the spot below his ear, “More than sure.” He turns, catching Pete off guard by  placing warm, steady hands on his face and crashing their lips into another heated and desperate kiss, Patrick’s tongue making its way into Pete’s mouth, causing the older of the two to moan. 

 

It’s a frenzy of hands pulling at clothes, leaving a trail of expensive jackets, shoes, socks, and Pete’s belt in their wake as they tumble into Pete’s suite. They land on the bed with blissful smiles and lust hazed eyes, feverish touches and racing hearts as Pete gently pushes Patrick down onto the bed, pale and pink against the cream, plush comforter and cotton soft pillows, honey-blonde hair splayed against the white of the pillow like a glowing halo. Pete had to stop and admire the partially dressed angel beneath him, taking in the image, searing it into his brain, to have and to hold, to cherish forever, before leaning down to recapture lips and work at the clothing still on him.

 

“Have you ever done this before?” Pete asks as he works on the buttons of Patrick’s shirt revealing his creamy pale chest, kissing down his sternum as pale finger bury into his hair as Patrick arches into his touch, soft and airy sounds falling from his lips, Pete leaving a pink flush in his wake that contrast perfectly against the cream of his skin and the white of his shirt that still hung off his body.

 

“I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re asking,” Patrick laughs gently, a light annoyance laced in his words that didn’t hold any real malice, but his chuckles melt into a airy gasps when Pete’s mouth wetly begins to work on his nipples while his hand pinches the other to stiffness. “It’s just been a while,” he gasps, fingers tightening in his hair as he teases the hardening numb with a simple graze of his teeth, all the while his eyes are solely on Patrick as he arches his back beautifully into his touch.

 

Patrick continues to make soft noises as Pete continues to kiss over his chest with lips and fingers, tongue and teeth, all the while content sighs and gasps of pleasure escaping his lips is enough to make him grow hard in his pants, even more so as he heard his name fall from those lips as he moved further down, leaving wet kisses and playful bites down his navel, following the light trail of coarse ginger hair as he worked the belt off of Patrick’s, and purposely avoiding the growing bulge just below it.

 

“Pete, please…” he says, voice just above a whisper, thrusting his hips lightly to get some sort of friction, a breathless laugh escaping his lips when Pete purposely avoids him. “Don’t tease, jerk!”

 

“But that’s part of the fun,” Pete grins into the skin at his waistline of his pants as he works the belt and the zipper with hurried but sure hands.

 

Patrick chuckles above him, soft and melodic, music to his ears, and Pete can’t help but smile at the sound, “Just remember: payback’s a bitch,” the hand in his hair tugs, causing Pete to hum appreciatively at the sensation, the fingers of the other hand tracing over the thorn necklace inked on his skin as Pete inches the waistband of his pants and his underwear over his hips at an maddening  slow pace. “Oh my God,” Patrick gasps squeezing at a tan shoulder, “I’m so going to get you back, just you wait, Wentz.”

 

But Pete doesn’t answer, only flashes Patrick a devilish grin as he brings the waistband low enough to expose the base of his cock surrounded by coarse brown-blond hair. “Well, hello there,” Pete whispers as he leans in to place a slow and lingering kiss to the base. Patrick cursing at the touch of Pete’s lips, hips arching up into his touch as he lets out a shutter breath. “Easy there, baby,” the older man coos, as he drags the rest of the materials off his legs, leaving Patrick gloriously naked, all white and flushed with a splattering of honey-blond hair leading deliciously towards a hard and heavy, pink cock resting against his belly as his white dress shirt clung to his shoulders. “I got you, beautiful,” Pete breathes as he leans back down, wrapping his hand around his prick, feeling the weight of his cock in his palm, warm and velvety smooth with a slight drag, and filling his palm nicely as he strokes from base to head, twisting ever so slightly at the head, and then back down, milking a low keen from Patrick’s throat as he tosses his head against the pillow, hands scrambling for purchase on Pete’s shoulder, his arms, anything.

 

Pete can’t keep his eyes off him, couldn’t resist the way his name came out in long moans and heaved gasps from petal blushed lips. He leans up, shifting so that can kiss Patrick, swallowing his moans and whimpers as he strokes a little faster, a little tighter, pearls of precome starting to bubble at the tip, making the slide of Pete’s hand smoother as he kissed the blond senselessly.

 

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Pete breathes as he watches Patrick start to thrust up into his fist, the crisp, white shirt still hanging loosely on his shoulders, but was slowly starting to slide down. “You look so fucking hot like this,” he asks as he kissed Patrick’s neck, sucking a mark into his pulse point and he trails back down.

 

There’s a tug at Pete’s hair, and he lifts his head to meet blue-green eyes, dark enough with lust to be the color of a raging hurricane in the ocean, as they lock onto Pete’s. “Y-you’re turn,” Patrick gasps, flustered and hot all over because of him. “Come on,” the blond grins, pulling him back up into a kiss, hands framing his cheeks, fingers gliding along the smooth tan skin as their lips meet feverishly. “I can’t have all the fun.”

 

Pete smiles as he moves, presses kisses into the sensitive column of Patrick’s neck, relishing in the breathless noises that follow and the hands that move from his face to his neck and shoulders, holding on to him as Patrick gets lost in the sensations. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers into heated skin. “We have all the time in the world, let me do this for you.” He feels Patrick about to protest but what words were to come from him melt into a deep groan when Pete bites down against his neck, causing Patrick’s hips to twitch forward.

 

Patrick doesn’t fight back anymore, but simply gets lost in the haze of heat and pleasure as Pete continues his journey back down his body, smooth, plush thighs parting as a sun-kissed body settles between them . It’s not long before Pete takes his dick back in his hand, stoking him lazily while kissing at his hip bones and nipping at his thighs. Another plea falls from Patrick’s mouth and Pete, being the ever loving and generous boyfriend he was, couldn’t deny him any longer, mouthing at the satin smooth length on his cock before trailing tongue and lips, hot and slick, up to the head. Patrick mews, gasping and seeking purchase at the sheet and Pete as his cock is enveloped into the warm, wet heat of the older man’s mouth, an arm curled around his thigh, tattooed and tan contrasting against pale and unmarked skin a sight all of its own,  while another hand cups at Patrick’s balls, rolling them firmly in his palm, applying just the right amount of pressure that Pete knows is making Patrick see stars, if the sinful sounds falling from his mouth and filling the room and the way Patrick’s body seemed to want more are any indication, all the while Pete can’t stop himself from grinding his hips into the mattress just at the sounds.

 

“Oh fuck, Pete…please…” And that makes Pete suck a little harder, hollowing out his cheeks and taking more of Patrick’s cock into his mouth, tasting the salty, bitter precome on his tongue as the hand on his thigh rubs soothing circle into the skin before pulling off carefully, saliva leaving Patrick’s cock shiny and wet as it slapped against his stomach, a disappointed whimper and the shutter of Patrick’s body under Pete’s was enough for him to place tender, apologetic kisses to the inside of his trembling thighs as he catches his breath.

 

“Hold on, babe,” Pete rasps out, moving back up, reaching into the drawer of nightstand, and fishing  out a condom on lube, and then settling back at Patrick’s side, a hand trailing along the pale and pink expanse of his chest, breathes coming out in soft pants. “You okay?” he asks quietly.

 

Patrick nods, a soft smiles gracing his lips, body splayed and lax against the soft sheets of the bed looking every bit of every wet dream Pete has ever had.

 

“You’re wearing too much,” his boyfriend breathes, and Pete’s attention is brought back to the straining erection in his slacks, his dick painfully hard and underwear damp already sticking to him. Pete’s quick to strip himself of his pants and underwear, being carefully watched by ocean-glass colored eyes as he wraps his hand around his own blood-dark cock, unable to bite back the groan that escapes him as he beings to stroke the heated flesh, just to satisfy the need for friction to help him last.

 

His eyes catch Patrick’s, watching them darken as he continues to stroke, gathering beads of pearlescent white from the tip with every upstroke to help ease the slide back down, then squeezing himself firmly at the base, nestled against coarse black hair, to try to ease the pressure growing in his belly.

 

“Like what you see?” Pete teases with a playful smirk.

 

“That’s a stupid question,” Patrick sasses back quietly, pulling Pete back into a kiss filled with teeth and tongue, one hand on his arm, the other’s fingers twining into Pete’s hair, scraping at his skull. As they pull apart, a pale hand begins to trail down Pete’s chest, but is caught before it could reach his throbbing erection, Pete lacing their fingers together and bringing them up to kiss pale knuckles, much to Patrick’s disappointment, as Pete guides the wandering hand to rest on the back of his neck. “That’s not fair,” Patrick pouts as the hand on Pete’s neck tracing over the dark ink of the tattoo that loops around his chest and shoulder. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

 

“I know, baby,” Pete coos ducking down to kiss at his neck, “But I’m not gonna last long if you start jacking me off,” pauses nibbling at his pulse point, “Wanna come inside of you,” and hearing the moan falling from those lips and the subtle twitch of hips is enough to make Pete want to sink straight into Patrick.

 

Oh God does he want that more than anything, but he wants this to last, wants to watch Patrick come completely undone under his hands, come hell or high water.

 

“Please?” Patrick’s whispered plea makes Pete reach down and squeeze his aching cock tight once more before propping himself beside him, moving an arm to pillow Patrick’s head.

 

Pete brings the pads of two of his fingers to his mouth, coating them generously with spit as the hand trails down, gliding past Patrick’s blood-red cock, hard and throbbing for him. “This okay?”

 

“More than,” Patrick smiles voice soft and far away, shifting his hips for better access. Patrick’s looking up at him with glazed over eyes and a lip trapped between his teeth, fingers gripping tightly into his bicep, and Pete’s hoping it leaves a bruise. “Want you so much.”

 

Pete grins as he leans down to capture his lips, his clean hand running through honey-blond hair. “I do too.”

 

“Fuck me?” There’s a breathless lithe to the question, filled with heat and need, but underlined with something hopeful, some magical that’s purely Patrick, and Pete wants to bottle it up and never let it go, wants to hoard it and stow it away and treasure it for the rest of his life until his heart stops. Pete can’t hold off for much longer.

 

“Yeah, ‘Trick…let me just…” Pete reaches down, spit fingers circling the tight ring of muscles, watch the blonde’s face as he does so, enrapture as Patrick mews out just at the touch, eyes fluttering shut, head falling back against pillows as thighs part further, spreading for him easily. He’s working saliva soaked fingers against his hole, when an idea comes to mind. “You okay with me eating you out?”

 

Another moan, this one high as a digit slips in past the ring of muscles “Fuck yeah, please.”

 

Pete between Patrick’s thighs in no time a hand holding shuttering hips down as he licks into him with broad strokes, taking in the sweat and musk and everything Patrick, as he pulls out his fingers and coats them in lube, easing one back in before working another, tongue teasing his entrance as Patrick starts gasping at the sheets and Pete, trying to anchor himself as Pete preps him with tongue, spit, fingers, and lube.

 

By the time Pete’s managed to work a third finger in, kissing dirty encouragements of Such a good boy, you’re taking my fingers so well, and I can’t wait to be in you into trembling thighs, Patrick’s babbling nonsense, a fine sheen of sweat covering his body, darkening his hair as it sticks to his forehead, making his chest shine as he arches his back at Pete’s fingers when he presses against his prostate, crying out, causing his body to seize up. “There! Oh God, Pete, there!”

 

Pete bites at the inside of his thighs as he rubs mercilessly at the bump, grinning into abused skin as Patrick continues to cry out, thrashing his head back and forth against the pillow. A pale hand shoots down to attempt to grasp at his own leaking cock, a small puddle of white gathering at his naval, with another hand stops him, again, this time, in the haze of pleasure, Patrick shoots Pete a deadly glare, a wordless threat loud and clear in his  just his eyes, but Pete’s unfazed, instead he places one last biting kiss into his thigh, pulling back to inspect the blotches of red that litter pale skin before turning back his attention to the heated gaze. He tsks with a grin, moving up Patrick’s body and pinning the captured wrist against the bed. “Nuh huh, Baby. No touching.”

 

“Asshole,” Patrick hisses back, thrusting his hips up to seek out some kind of friction, but the heat fades when a warm tan hand stokes him, tight and wet with leftover lube. “ ‘m ready,” he heaves, leaning up to mark Pete’s neck, littering the tan column of skin with kisses, Pete melting under his touch, as his lips trace up to his ear, teeth nibbling at the lobe, causing Pete to shutter. “Wanna ride you….please?”

 

Pete was sure he was about to come right then and there, but only nods, searching for the condom he had gotten out earlier, shakily ripping at the foil with his teeth, sliding it over his throbbing cock. Before he could coat himself in lube, he finds himself being pushed onto his back, Patrick gracefully straddling his hips, thick, pale thighs resting over his, looking every bit sinful and ethereal, as one of his hands came to rest over his latex covered dick.

 

Patrick gives him a few languid strokes, drizzling lube over the head and letting his hand work the slick over him, Pete’s hips thrusting up into the smooth friction of Patrick’s fist. “You ready?” Patrick askes, voice rough and trembling, the hand not on his dick resting on his chest, just over his heart. A nod was the only answer Pete could give, which was enough for Patrick as he carefully lifted himself over Pete’s cock held steady in his hand, and slowly lowered himself down, a sharp inhale of breath as he nudged the head past a loosen ring of muscles, slick with lube and spit, a light gasp melting into a drawn out moan as he sank down Pete’s length, pausing to adjust to the burning fullness of Pete stretching him, of Pete actually in him.

 

Pete’s hands clawed desperately at Patrick’s hip, his own groans mixing with Patrick’s, curses fell freely, whispered like sacred prayers in the dark of the room when Patrick’s weight settled comfortably over his hips again. “Holy fuck, Babe,” Pete gasped out. “So fucking tight.”

 

Patrick leans forward, hands resting on either side of Pete as he catches his breath, pants mixing with soft whimpers, eyes squeezed shut as he adjust to the thick cock buried in his ass.

 

“Patrick, you okay?” Pete asks voice soft with concern, a hand running along the length of his sides. But Patrick nods, breathing in and out steady before answering Pete back. “Yeah, just, it’s been a while…fuck you’re big.”

 

“Take your time, baby. I’m here.” Patrick does, and Pete is patient, muttering soothing words into flushed skin until Patrick carefully rocks his hip, slow and tentative at first, still getting used to the sensation of Pete in him. After a minute, Patrick rights himself, sitting up in Pete’s lap, finding a little more confidence in himself to rock his hip faster, the tan hands on his hips guiding him throughout, helping him create a steady rhythm that’s causing Patrick to throw back his head with a moan at every graze of his prostate.

 

“So fucking good,” Pete gasps, getting lost in the tight-slick heat of Patrick surrounding him, taking him, reducing him to mindless babble as he watches the blonde above him ride with hooded eyes and heated touches. “God you’re fucking sexy as hell, ‘Trick. So hot riding my cock…”  It’s a blur of rocking hips and two different sets of hands, tan and pale, coffee and cream, against the bright red heat of Patrick’s cock, it’s desperate kisses, whimpers and moans, nails digging into a tan chest, and hips thrusting up roughly, creating a bass line to Patrick’s rhythm. It’s sweat and come and wordless pleas, and everything the both of them could have ever imagined, if not more. It was the earthquake waking an oncoming wave, the tides receding into the ocean, before the swell begins to grow, pleasure, pain, love, everything just building, and building…  

 

“Oh fuck, Patrick,” Pete moans, the pressure threatening to make him burst.“I’m not gonna last, babe.”

 

“Me too,” Patrick gasps out, moving rocking his hips at a maddening place, already on the blink of release, as thighs shake from exhaustion. “It’s okay, we got all the time in the world, now….right?” He smiled, echoing the words Pete has kissed into his skin earlier.

 

“Yeah,” Pete sighed back, thrusting up into Patrick’s willing body, his cock ramming against his prostate, causing Patrick’s rhythm to falter with a cry. “Yeah, we do, ‘Trick. All the fucking time.”

 

Patrick whines, unable to hold on any longer, his hand pumping furiously at his own leaking erection, gloriously read and sinfully slick with come starting to bubble copiously from the tip. “I love you…Oh fuck, Pete!”

 

Ribbons of white shoot from Patrick with a shout, landing hot on Pete’s stomach, another hand joining Patrick’s as he works him through his orgasm, as Pete desperately chases his own.

 

“Love you so much,” Pete rasps out, thrusting up into Patrick’s oversensitive body, little cries escaping his lips as Pete milks the last pearls of white from his cock. “Love you- Shit! Patrick!”  Pete comes with a deafening moan as he fills the condom , clutching desperately onto Patrick, one hand gripping his ass, the other with fingers digging into his hip, sinking his hips into Patrick’s body as his orgasm ran through his veins, lighting up every single nerve on fire.

 

When hips still finally still, there’s a silence that falls over the room, the only sound being the gasps for breaths coming from the intertwined bodies in the bed. Shaking from the aftershocks, Patrick carefully lifts off with a hiss, Pete’s spent cock slipping from him used entrance as he collapses beside Pete. He feels Pete move dispose of the condom, throwing it off to where he hopes it lands in a trashcan, and then sun-kissed arms quickly wrapped around his trembling form, bringing him close to a toned, heaving chest, head resting against his racing heart, as Pete peppers his face and temple with feather light kisses, and tentative touches. “I got you, ‘Trick,” he whispers into his hair. “I got you, Babe.” Patrick holds on just as tight, kissing at collarbones as fatigue started to seep into him, blanketed by the warmth of Pete’s arms, lifting his head up to meet Pete’s lips in a soft kiss, nothing like what they shared moments before.  

 

As their hearts started to settle and the sweat and come began to cool on their skin, the laid in silence, catching their breaths, touching each other, anchoring each other. It feels like the calm after the calamity, the desolate silence that comes after a storm has come to shore, the waves and receded, and all that is left is just stillness. It’s the silence in Pete’s head, the peace of a racing mind, the stillness of a nervous heart for Patrick, the fear and uncertainly he had melted away the moment he and Pete had kissed in the courtyard. It’s the stillness of the room, of calming hearts, and steady breaths, skin against skin, lips against lips. It’s a stillness that each other brings to the other, neither one of them knew they needed and now can’t live without.

 

It feels new, uncharted, unexplored, foreign, if anything, but it feels complete.

 

As the lay in the afterglow, Patrick kisses Pete’s cheek, hands coming up to card through his dark hair as he finds his voice, muddled with sleep. “Worth the blue balls?”

 

Pete laughs, loud and unashamed, wrapping Patrick tightly in his arms, basking  in the warmth, the sweat, the stick and smell of sex. A shower could wait until morning, but right now, he just wants this. He wants this moment, wants to melt into his boyfriend, the love of his life, his candle in the dark, the stars in his sea of endless night, he wants this like he’s never wanted anything before; he doesn’t want to let go.

 

“Totally worth the blue balls,” Pete says into the sex warm skin of Patrick’s shoulder, the younger man leaning into his touch as legs tangled against his own, as the covers are brought over them, shielding them from the outside world. “You know I would have waited forever, right?”

 

Patrick playfully rolls his eyes as he snuggles into his chest, kissing over his heart. “Yeah, sure…”

 

Pete finds himself thinking back, remembering the way Patrick looked straddled over his hips, riding him with his head thrown back in pure ecstasy as his hand worker furiously over his cock, and the words that tumbled from his lips as pleasure became too much for either of them to bear much longer.

 

I love you.

 

The both of them had been cautious when it came to those three words, never once uttering them until tonight. It was something they never spoke about in length, but yet it was understood, that despite their connection, despite the laughs, the kisses, the touches, I love you was something never to be touched out of fear, Pete had mentioned it in passing, how everyone who’s ever uttered those words to him in the past only wanted something other than him, and for Patrick, just a sense of trust, having never found anyone worth speaking those words to…

 

Until now.

 

While Pete can’t speak for Patrick, he knows he must feel the same, must feel the way the both of them fit together like a lock and key, the tumblers clicking just right, unlocking a part of themselves for each only other to bear witness to. It’s trust and compassion, it’s strength and vulnerability, and devotion all rolled into three simple words that other lovers throw around like empty and meaningless trinkets.

 

But this doesn’t feel like that.

 

It feels warm, and safe, and true. It’s careful kisses and witty remarks, playful punches and tentative touches. It’s hidden secrets brought to light and being held close by another heart when the world feels too dark and too much for one to handle alone.

 

It’s tangled bodies in a hotel room, tailored suits littering the floors, hands on warm skin, and hearts beating against hearts as the world goes by on beyond the walls, but within them, time has stopped.

 

“I love you.”

 

Blue-green eyes dashed with hazel, the color of the ocean and its endless waves meeting along the sand, crashing on the shore, look up to meet his. Patrick’s face is soft, a smile tugging at his lips as pale fingers come to rest against his cheek, watching him for a moment, then sliding his lips over his, pouring himself into the touch, words he’s unable to say written with his lips in a gentle kiss as the hearts beat as one.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Pete smiles, kissing his forehead, as the world drifts off, and a warmth settles over them, comforting and close, the simple things, like coffee beans and vinyl records on a rainy fall day.

 

It feels like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear I'm not very well-versed in writing smut, I usually leave that to some the the amazing pros in the tag, so hopefully it wasn't too horribly written. Also, there's a high possibility of more smut in the next chapter, just a heads up.
> 
> Speaking of next chapter, the next one is the last one and this fic in the series will be done! From here on out, it'll just be random one-shots to follow, and hopefully nothing as extensive or lengthy as this one. 
> 
> As always comments, kudos, suggestions are always welcomed, and if there's anything you all want to see happen in a future installment in this series, feel free to let me know on here or [Tumblr](http://shatteredmirrors-and-lace23.tumblr.com/) (shatteredmirrors-and-lace23).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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